


You Bring Me Home

by rosepose



Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: Depression, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Father-Daughter Relationship, Growing Up, Harry Styles - Freeform, Harry is her guardian, Loss, Multi, Parenthood, Self Harm, Song: Two Ghosts (Harry Styles), Suicide Attempt, Sweet Creature, Two Ghosts, daughter - Freeform, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 46,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15591804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepose/pseuds/rosepose
Summary: Harry has been named the legal guardian of 14 year-old Clara after the passing of a close friend. He loves her with all his heart, and has known her since she was a baby. What is he to do when her mental health takes a turn for the worst? The story that I wrote after punching a wall.Tenatatively, Clara took her right hand out of her pocket.Harry held her hand up gingerly, examining it. “Oh, love, what have you done to yourself?” He kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes. “Surely you know better?”She shook her head no.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains description of self harm and follows a character with the thought processes of a self-harmer with depression. If you feel that this will trigger you, please don't read it.

Clara winced as she looked at her hand. It was slightly swollen, and purple-blue blotches had appeared on her knuckles. She began to cry. Despite the pain, she ran her hand into the door once, twice, three times more. It was never enough for her. Perhaps if she could break the skin and see the blood underneath, she could get some relief.

 

She liked the soreness, however. It made her feel grounded in a way. If she could always just focus on her hand instead of her thoughts, she’d be a much happier girl.

 

She hoped she hadn’t made a lot of noise. She took pride in the stealthiness of her sobs...and injuries. A hand injury was easy to explain away, she was sure. A long cry could be attributed to a sad movie or heart-wrenching novel. Even weight loss could be blamed on extra exercise. She always had it mapped out. Always.

 

She punched the door one more time; she put all of her strength in it. She realized shortly afterwards that this had been a mistake. Some of the skin had come off her knuckles, and she let out a yelp of pain, falling to her knees.

 

“Clara!” Harry called. “Are you alright up there?”

 

She took a deep breath, attempting to gain some kind of composure to answer back with. “I’m fine!” Despite the lie, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

There was a knock on the door. “Clara?”

 

“Yeah, Harry?”

 

“Did you make a noise just now? It sounded like you screamed.” There was evident worry in his voice. Clara wondered if she could convince him to leave her alone.

 

“I’m okay.” she assured him.

 

“Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

 

“Can we talk later?” She could almost feel his look of disapproval through the door.

 

“No. Now.”

 

“Okay,” she conceded, opening the door with her left hand. She stuck her hands in her pockets.

 

“I heard pounding. Was that you?”

 

She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t with him looking at her so sternly. “Yes.” She began to shake. Harry had never been this firm with her.

 

“I worry about you, Clara. Can you please just tell me what’s wrong?”

 

“Won’t you be angry with me?”

 

“I can’t promise I won’t be, but I will be if you lie.” His voice had become softer. Tenatatively, Clara took her right hand out of her pocket.

 

Harry held her hand up gingerly, examining it. “Oh, love, what have you done to yourself?” He kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes. “Surely you know better?”

 

She shook her head “no.”

 

“You...you punched the door?” She nodded.

 

“Why, why would you do that?” He couldn’t believe it. What could drive her to do such a thing? He thought she was happy here. Happy with him. Had he been neglecting her so much that he failed to notice she was the opposite? When he was made her guardian, he imagined they’d have fun together, not that she’d fall into such despair she would harm herself.

 

“I just...I got so mad at myself. I failed my test and I started thinking about my mum. It felt like…like I deserved it.” She paused, not knowing how much more to divulge. “I guess it...it made me feel relieved. Like I was doing something when there was nothing to be done.”

 

He pulled her into a hug, hyper-aware of her hand. “You’re so beautiful, Clara, and so brave.” He pauses. “There are better ways to expel your emotions.”

 

“What if I like it like this?” She huffed.

 

Harry shot her a sad look. “Do you like it better than using your hand? We’ll have to go to the doctor. Put your shoes on.”

 

“I don’t want to go anywhere!” She cried, tears filling her eyes to the brim. It broke Harry’s heart to see her like this. She was only 14. She used to be so carefree when she was little and now that her mother was gone, a shell had taken her place.

 

“Good thing I didn’t ask.” Clara crossed her arms in response, fixating on her feet. “I’m serious, Clara. We’re going.”

 

“No, I don’t want to,” she said. Her voice was faint.

 

Harry had become mix of angry and extremely concerned over the past few minutes. “Do you think that I can’t care for you well? Would you rather someone else do it? Do you want to live with your Aunt instead?”

 

She finally looked at him. “What? No, I love you. I want to live with you.”

 

“I give you so much freedom, Clara. I don’t bother you. But there are some things that are just non-negotiable. I’m responsible for your well-being. You’re not well; therefore, it’s my responsibility to help you, whether you want it or not. I love you so much, you must know that.”

 

“I know.” She looked into his eyes and appreciated their kindness, and concern. “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll go.”

 

~~

 

“Why do they always make you wait so long?” Clara asked, barely above a whisper.

 

“They’re betting that your body will heal itself before they arrive.” Harry said. It was a joke, but his face was deadly serious.

 

“Makes sense.”

 

“Love, do you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Harry was tentative with his words.

 

“No, it’s not that….It’s more like I don’t want to be a burden. You’re always so busy, and we travel a lot. I don’t know, some things are hard to even articulate to myself, let alone you.”

 

“You’re my blessing, not my burden.” He sounded almost offended. “What kinds of things?”

 

Clara sighed. “It’s just...the way I feel sometimes, it seems so….absurd. Like it won’t make sense to anyone but me. So I keep it to myself.”

 

“And take it out on yourself too?” It was more of a statement than a question.

 

“I guess so.”

 

The door opened, and a doctor walked in. She was far too uppity for either of their current moods. “Hello, I’m Dr. Williams. I’ll be taking care of you today!”

 

Harry got up to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

 

The doctor smiled, and glanced at the chart. “And Mr….Styles?” She recognized the name. “You’re Clara’s guardian?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Great, and what brings you in today, Clara?”

 

“She’s hurt her hand.” Harry said, knowing Clara wouldn’t want to speak.

 

Dr. Williams approached Clara. “May I have a look at it?”

 

Clara looked to Harry for reassurance before holding it out for the doctor to see.

 

“Hmm, that’s quite a bruise! Your skin’s come off a bit on the top there.” Dr. Williams put some gloves on before proceeding to lightly prod at Clara’s knuckles. The girl winced at the contact.

 

“Ow, ow.”

 

“Go like this.” The doctor wiggled her fingers back and forth. Clara attempted to do the same, but with far more difficulty. “I think you’ve sprained your hand. It will heal in a week or two.” She got out some antiseptic from the cupboard. “This is going to sting.”

 

“Fuck!” Clara exclaimed when the liquid made contact with her open wound.

 

“Language.” Harry reminded her.

 

“Fudge.” Clara said, rolling her eyes.

 

Dr. WIlliams’ mouth was curled into a smile as she wrapped Clara’s right hand in bandages. “There we go. So, over the next week, I recommend you use your injured hand as little as possible. It’s going to be very sore, and you want it to heal properly. I can prescribe you some painkillers if you like.”

 

“I don’t want paink--”

 

“That would be wonderful,” Harry interrupted. “Thank you.”

 

Dr. Williams smiled and took out her prescription pad. “You’ll want to take one tablet, once every twelve hours as needed for the pain, okay?” Clara wouldn’t respond.

 

“Thank you, Doctor.” Harry said. “Could I talk to you about something?”

 

Dr. Williams looked at Clara, then back at Harry. “Yes, of course. Out in the hall.” Clara was glaring daggers as they left the room.

 

“What’s your concern?”

 

“I was wondering if she could get a psych evaluation.” Harry said, his voice slightly lowered.

 

“Has she experienced trauma recently?”

 

“Her mother died six months ago. She did that to her hand. On _purpose._  I’m worried she’ll do something worse.”

 

“Do you believe she is at risk for suicide?”

 

Harry’s eyes went wide. The thought hadn’t even entered his mind. What would he do without her? He’d be lost. No, no, not suicide. Never. “N-no, she...No, I don’t think she’s at risk for that.”

 

“Okay. I’ll order a psych eval. It might be a bit before she can see someone, though. If you just sit tight with her, someone will be around to see you.”

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, thank you so much.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story contains description of self harm and follows a character with the thought processes of a self-harmer with depression. If you feel that this will trigger you, please don't read it.

“Hi Clara, how are you today?”

 

Clara narrowed her eyes. “I’m mad.” She wasn’t just mad, she was enraged.

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Because Harry thinks I’m crazy. He’s forcing me to meet with a psychiatrist.”

 

The woman leaned forward a bit. “Meeting with a psychiatrist doesn’t make you crazy. He’s worried about you.”

 

“If he’s worried, we could have handled it together. But now he’s just taking my freedom away.”

 

“Clara, can you tell me why you were admitted to the emergency room?”

 

Clara gulped. “I hurt my hand.”

“Can you tell me how that happened? I encourage you to be honest. I’m only trying to help you.”

 

“Why would I want to be honest if you can hold me here for as long as you want? That won’t make me better, it’ll make me worse. If you already know what happened, why are you asking me?”

 

The evaluator wrote something down on the clipboard. “I want to know your side.”

 

“I punched the door. Is that what you want to hear?” She started to cry.

 

“If it’s the truth, then yes. Clara, do you feel the need to hurt yourself?”

 

She turned her attention to the ground. “Yes.”

 

“Is this the first time you’ve acted on that impulse?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is it something you do often?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is this urge triggered, or made stronger by certain stressors? For example, maybe schoolwork?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you feel safe in your home, and with your caregiver?”

 

“Yes, I do.” She was definitely going to be committed. She was sure of it. Why was Harry making her do this? She just wanted to go home and cry. “But I’m  _ not _ suicidal, okay? I don’t want to die. I’m really scared of dying.”

 

“Okay.” The woman wrote something down. “Has anything traumatic happened to you recently that has triggered these impulses to hurt yourself?”

 

“My mum died.”

 

“Do you find that hurting yourself helps you cope with the pain of your loss?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you present any of these behaviors prior to your mother’s passing?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And does it seem like since the traumatic event, or even before, that you’ve lost interest in some of the things you used to love? Maybe food, or books, or singing. Things like that.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay, I’m going to ask you something. You don’t need to answer. Was your mother’s passing violent or otherwise having to do with severe physical trauma, rather than illness?”

 

Clara paused a moment. “I-I...She...Her kidneys failed.” Clara began to sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m done, I can’t do this anymore.”

 

The woman softened her voice and scooted her chair closer to Clara. “I really think we should continue--”

 

“No!” she cried. “No, I want Harry! Get Harry! Please, I don’t want to do this anymore!” 

 

“Alright, alright. I’ll go get him.”

 

~~

Harry was ushered into the room a few minutes later. He wrapped Clara in his arms immediately when he saw the state she was in. “You’re okay, love, you’re okay.”

 

“I- want to go home!” she said into his chest. “Harry, she asked me so many awful questions. I just want to go home, please!”

 

He rubbed slow circles into her back. “Alright, okay, we’ll go home. I’ll take you home. I’ve got to speak with the doctor first and we can go right home. I promise.”

 

“They’re just going to tell you I’m sick, H-harry. They’ll tell you I’m sick!”

 

“It’s okay.” He pulled her closer to his chest and let her cry.

 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry I’m so sad all the time.”

 

“You don’t have a thing to be sorry for.”

 

“And nobody even likes me, Harry. I don’t have any friends at school. They just pretend to like me because of you.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, love. How could someone not like you?”

 

“Why don’t you go and ask them?”

 

“Don’t challenge me, I’ll do it.”

 

“Sh-she asked me about how my mum died. A-and I l-lost it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“Darling, that pain’s not going to go away. But over time, it won’t hurt as bad. You can think about your mum and smile instead of cry. But for now, it’s important for you to tell me when you’re feeling bad. So I can help you.”

 

“What about when you’re away?” She sniffled. “You’re away a lot.”

 

“If I’m gone more than a few days, you come with me. You know that. Some trips I have to take alone. But you can call me. Anywhere in the world. Any time. Okay?”

 

“Okay.” She paused. “Why doesn’t my dad ever talk to me like this?”

 

Harry sighed. Her father was another topic of discomfort. They usually avoided it altogether. “It’s not as if he doesn’t love you.”

 

“He has a pretty odd way of showing it. We never  _ talk, _ Harry. He doesn’t know anything about me. He makes me dinner and we go to sleep. Then I leave the next day? What’s that? Where’s the value in it? I couldn’t ever ask him for anything when mom was alive, because he’d just whine about how he already pays child support. And now I live with you, there’s no asking at all. It’s just like, he acts like he’s so proud of me, but he wasn’t even  _ there _ . For any of it, Harry.”

 

He hated hearing about Abe. He was such a hypocrite, and it made him mad. But Harry knew how much he loved Clara. Despite what she thought, the man had always had a such soft spot for her. “That’s just the way he is. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

 

“You’ll be a good dad one day, Harry.”

 

“I’m doing a good job?”

 

“The best. As always. You should work on that, honestly. It’s bloody annoying.”

 

“Work on what?” 

 

“You’re good at everything. It’s stupid.” 

 

He smiled. “I can’t help it if I’m blessed.”

~~

“We’ve determined that she is at risk for harming herself.”

 

Harry frowned. “What does that mean? Are you going to keep her here?”

 

“It’s a bit of a tricky situation. I’ve evaluated her, and she doesn’t seem to be at risk for  _ seriously _ harming herself. Involuntary commitment would be a drastic approach. However, she needs to begin therapy immediately. I can refer you to a psychiatrist, or you can set one up yourself through her primary care doctor.”

 

Harry wasn’t looking at the woman anymore. He was looking past her. The hospital around him had gone into soft focus.  “Yes, yes thank you.”

 

“You’ll want to monitor her closely these next few days,” The psychiatrist warned. “I would recommend keeping her home from school.”

 

~~

 

“What did she say?” Clara was anxious beyond belief.

 

“You can go home. But you have to start therapy.”

 

“That’ll just make me worse.” She didn’t want to talk about any of the things wrong. She just wanted to ignore them. It was the only way she got on. 

 

“No school either. For the next few days.”

 

“Fine by me.”

 

Harry was still processing the fact that Clara could do such a thing. So many alternatives, yet she felt the need to nearly break her own hand? He could understand all too well the pain of her loss, but even then he was never driven to harming himself. “You’ve got to promise me that you’ll really try, Clara. I know it’s going to be hard, but really, you’ve got to do your best. If can’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Because I love you, Clara. I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too. Can we go home now, please?”

 

“Yes, absolutely. What do you fancy for dinner?”

 

“Will you cook?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Well, then anything is fine.”

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of internalized homophobia in this chapter. If you think this may upset you, please don't read.

It was the next morning, and Harry hadn’t slept a wink, which wasn’t like him at all. He liked discipline. But yesterday wasn’t exactly routine. At around six in the morning, he’d decided to abandon the hope of sleep and down some caffeine. If he couldn’t sleep, he could be productive, and make Clara feel comfortable in her days out of school.

 

Breakfast. That was it. He’d make breakfast. He opened the fridge and began to take out everything he thought she might like. Eggs, fruit, bacon. All of it was laying out on the counter. Then he set to work. He made an omelette, he made smoothies, blueberry pancakes. He only made pancakes on special occasions, since they weren’t very healthy.

 

Clara was a bit bewildered when she came downstairs. “Sorry, is this a buffet? Did you make a buffet?”

 

“I just, uh, whipped up a few things. Thought you might like a nice breakfast today.”

 

She tilted her head, grabbing a piece of bacon. “But...I always have a nice breakfast, because you always make me breakfast. This is...a bit overkill. But I appreciate the effort, and, uhm,” she said, taking a bite of the bacon, “extra points for presentation, though.” she gestured to the organized display of food.

 

“Would you, uh, would you like a smoothie?”

 

“What’s in it?”

 

“Erm, strawberry, blueberry, banana, yogurt, blackberries.”

 

“Oooh, my favorite.” Harry grinned and went to find a glass.

 

“You know,” he said, pouring her the drink. “I was thinking--”

 

“Oh dear.”

 

“I was _thinking_ ,” he continued, setting the glass down in front of her and leaning against the counter. “That you might like to learn the guitar.”

 

“What?”

 

“I think, er, you might like it. It’s uh, something to do with, with your hands.”

 

“Oh.” She didn’t know how to feel about his suggestion.

 

“It’s just...and I know we’re different people, I understand...it, helps me deal with my emotions...when I play music, and I thought maybe it could do the same for you.”

 

“I don’t know,” she said. She’d never played an instrument aside from the ukulele. And she really didn’t know if she could make herself practice insteading of punching something.

 

“I know you’ve already got your ukulele, but I think it can help to challenge yourself. And you’ve got a beautiful voice. You don’t sing as much as you used to, love.” He missed the times when he’d come home and hear her belting because she knew no one was home. Or when her voice would crack and she’d go over the same part until she got it right, or she’d tired herself out. He loved how embarrassed she’d get when she realized he’d been home the whole time. It was one of his favorite things. But things just kept getting worse.

 

“I don’t like singing in front of people. I’m not good at it. “

 

He laughed a little bit. “First of all, you’re wrong. Second, it wouldn’t matter if your voice sounds like a bloody garbage disposal as long as it makes you happy to sing.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Harry took a bite of toast. “Something to think about.”

 

“Hey, Harry?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Will you play me a song? I’m a little sad.”

 

“Of course. Which one?”

 

“Can you do Sweet Creature? I love that one.”

 

“Only if you sing along.”

 

“Okay, deal.” She crossed to the other side of the counter and hugged him. “You give the world’s best hugs, Harold.”

 

“I try my best.” Harry said, trying not to be sad that Clara woke up needing a hug.

 

~~

“You know what I don’t like?” Clara said aloud. “When people ask me what I’m feeling all the time.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Maybe some things I just want to keep to myself. Not everything needs to be _analyzed_ under a microscope. And I know the reason I’m here. I get it. I fucked up.” She paused, looking at the woman across the room from her. “It’s just, I know you’re going to make me talk about things I don’t want to talk about and I’ll just feel worse.”

 

“We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t feel comfortable talking about. I’m just her to help you sort out how you feel. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

 

“No,” she huffed.

 

“Okay, well, I’m paid by the hour. So, we can just sit here the whole time if you want. Or, you could even leave,  I suppose.”

 

Clara sighed. Of course she wouldn’t do that. “I promised Harry I’d try my best. So, I can’t.”

 

“Keeping promises is very important.” the therapist echoed. “They build trust. Harry means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

 

“He’s my favorite person in the world.”

 

“Would you like to talk about him?”

 

Why would she just sit here and talk about Harry? How could that even be relevant?

“I mean, sure. He’s just amazing. I could tell him anything and he’s so supportive all the time and gentle and he’s somehow the kindest person you’ll ever meet and good at everything.”

 

The woman furrowed her brow. “Good at everything?”

 

“He is, truly. He can sing, and cook, and act. He dresses better than everyone, and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks, _ever_.”

 

“Are you jealous of him?”

 

“Sure, but I thought everyone was. I wish I could be like him.”

“In what way?”

 

“He’s just so himself all the time.”

 

“Would you say you’re afraid of being yourself?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“Why do you think that is?”

 

“There’s parts of myself that are just hard for me to acknowledge.”

 

"Like what?"

 

“Like that it’s hard for me to be happy, and that I’d rather stay in my room than go to a party. Or that I think I’m gay.”

 

“Do you wish you didn’t have those things about you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you...wish you weren’t gay?”

 

Clara just nodded. “It’s just...things would be so much easier if I wasn’t. And I haven’t told Harry because I don’t know if he’ll understand that I’m not really okay with it. Maybe later I will be. But he’ll just start talking to me about girls or take me to London Pride or something like that. And I don’t think I could handle that.”

 

“You know, most people are afraid to come out because they’re afraid their parents _won’t_ be supportive.”

 

“I know it’s stupid, but I’ve never told anyone. Not even my mum.”

 

“I think you should tell him. I know you said you like to keep things to yourself, but I think you’ll find that opening up is freeing.”

 

“Okay.”

 

~~

“How was it?” Harry asked when Clara joined him in the passenger seat.

 

“It was okay. She, uh, gave me some homework. I’m supposed to talk to you about some stuff.”

 

“Well, I’m all ears.”

 

“I don’t know know, maybe later. Can we talk about something else?”

 

“Er, okay...I forgot to tell you, Louis is coming for dinner. Is that okay?”

 

“Y-yeah, I love Louis. I just wasn’t expecting anybody to come over.” She became suddenly aware of her bandaged hand again. It began to throb, almost as in response. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Louis. She was just embarrassed, that her mind had fallen into such disrepair since the last time he’d seen her. “Are you going to cook like last night?”

 

“I thought we’d go out.”

 

“But won’t the people with cameras come? I don’t like them. They make me anxious.”

 

“They won’t be there. I promise. Just you, me, and Louis.”

 

“Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

“Hey, Lou! It’s good to see you.” Harry pulled Louis into a tight hug and rested his face on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Louis grinned. “Missed you too. Where’s Clara?” he asked, pulling away. “I haven’t seen her since before…” he trailed off.

 

“She’ll be down in a minute. And Lou?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Best not mention it, okay?”

 

“Okay, yeah.”

 

“Clara! Louis is here!”

 

A few moments later, Clara walked down the stairs. She was wearing a blue dress with black sandals. Her black hair framed her face in frenzied ringlets and ended at her shoulders. Louis thought she looked stunning. “Louis!” she said running to hug him. He noticed that her right hand was bandaged.

 

“How are you?”

 

“I’m good, I’m good. Everything at the X Factor is really fun, and I’m working on some new music.”

 

She smiled. “That’s great. I’m glad.”

 

“Alright,” Harry chimed in. “It’s time to go, our reservation is at seven-thirty.”

 

“Are we all taking the same car?” Clara asked, hoping the answer was no. She looked at Harry, who looked at Louis.

 

“We don’t have to. Lou, you know where it is, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Louis was a bit confused. Of course he knew the restaurant they’d always go to together. And if they weren’t going in the same car, why didn’t he just meet them at the restaurant? Was Clara uncomfortable with him?

 

“Okay then.” Harry said. “Let’s go.”

 

~~

“I’m sorry. I feel like I embarrassed you in front of Louis.”

“You didn’t embarrass me, but I’m a bit confused. I don’t know why you didn’t want him to ride with us.”

 

“He’s staying over tonight, isn’t he?” she said.

 

“Erm, yeah. He is, actually.”

 

“I hope you have a good time.” she would have said it as a joke, but she was just too anxious.

 

“Is this because of the thing you’re supposed to talk to me about? If you don’t want to say, you don’t have to just because your therapist said so, okay?”

 

“I know that, but I think I want to.”

 

“Okay…” Harry had no idea what she might say, so he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter.

 

“Harry, I’m…” Tears formed in her eyes, and she wished them away. She didn’t want to cry. “I think...I think I’m gay.”

 

“Oh. Are you alright? Are you crying?”

 

“No,” she lied.

 

“There’s nothing to cry over, I promise you.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t t-tell you s-sooner, I just…”

 

“You weren’t ready. That’s fine.” He pulled into the restaurant. “Do you want a minute before you go inside?”

 

She nodded. “First I want a hug, please.”

 

Harry got out of the car and went around to her door. She got out and he pulled her into a long, tight hug. “It’s okay if you’re not okay with it,” he whispered. “You will be. You will be.”

 

“I’m sorry, I just...I don’t want…”

 

“We’ll get through it,” he said, rubbing her back. “There’s nothing to be sad about, really. Come on, let’s go meet Louis, okay? We can talk more later if you want.” Harry kissed Clara’s forehead. “You’re okay,” he reassured her.

 

“I’m okay,” she echoed. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

 

~~

 

As the three of them settled in at the table, Clara tried her best to look like she hadn’t been crying. “Sweetheart?” Harry said. His voice was soft and caring. “Would you like something to drink?” Clara looked up. The waiter had already arrived at the table, and she hadn’t noticed.

 

“No, just water.” she said, trying not to look as fragile as she felt. Harry was worried. He always noticed when her eating habits changed. She used to love sugary drinks from time to time, but now she only drank water or tea. She used to always order dessert at restaurants, but now she’d say she was too full.

 

“What’re you thinking of getting, love?” Harry asked when the waiter was gone. He’d hoped she would say the pasta, because he knew how much she loved pasta.

 

She scanned the menu. “I think...the swordfish looks pretty good. Harry tried not to look disappointed.

 

“Good choice,” Louis said. Harry reached down and squeezed Louis’ knee as a thank you. He wasn’t able to say anything.

 

“Clara, how’s school?” Louis asked. “You doing anything fun?”

 

“I’m helping run the lighting board for the school play. I guess that’s a bit fun. It’s not in tech yet though, so I haven’t started.”

 

“That’s really cool. Harry, are you going to see it?”

 

Harry smiled. “Oh, yeah. And at every lighting cue I’m going to clap very loudly.”

 

Clara laughed a little. “Please don’t.”

 

“You can’t tell me what to do, Clara, I’m sorry.” This seemed to lighten the mood at the table. But instead of firing back, Clara remained silent.

 

After a few moments of this, she said, “Excuse me, I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” She slid out of the booth and scurried across the room. Harry’s heart sank a little further.

 

Louis cleared his throat. “Harry...what’s going on? What’s wrong with Clara?”

 

“I don’t know, Lou,” he said. He sounded defeated. Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She punched a door yesterday. I had to take her to A&E. I’ve never been so worried.”

 

Louis’ mouth hung open a little. “Harry….that’s _serious._ ”

 

“I know, I know. She had her first therapy session today. And...in the car, she…”

 

Louis’ brow knit together. “She...what?”

 

“She came out to me. Just now. Said she’s gay. You should have seen her, Lou. She started crying, like she was ashamed of herself. I just don’t understand why she just...doesn’t like herself, Louis.” Harry looked exhausted.

 

“Have you slept?”

 

Harry shook his head. “I was too worried. I kept getting up in the middle of the night to check on her.”

 

“Grief...it can do some scary things to you, Haz. After my mum...I’m still not over it. I’d go drinking every night just so I wouldn’t feel it anymore. You remember.” Harry did. He’d never seen Louis in such a dark place before.

 

“I think maybe it was something she was struggling with even before she started living with you. Maybe even before Jeanie got ill.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “She was such a happy kid.”

 

“She’ll be happy again. But it’s going to take time, you know? Just stick by ‘er and don’t ask her for more than she can manage. It’s a tricky thing.”

 

“Thanks, Lou. Thanks for being here. I just...sometimes I wonder if it shouldn’t have been me after all. To take care of her.”

 

Louis looked at Harry, completely confused. “Do you even hear what you just said? You’re...you’re all she has. She needs you. And you need ‘er too. There’s _no_ better person than you. Even the court thought so. You said yourself you couldn’t sleep, you were so worried.”

 

“I just didn’t think this would happen to her. Ever.”

 

“Hands heal, but so do hearts, Harry. Just takes longer.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Harry?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“How do you know if someone genuinely likes you? Like, as a person.” Clara said, putting her bookbag on.

 

“May I asked what prompted this?”

 

She sighed. “I’d prefer it if you’d just answer the question. Please.”

 

“Erm...well, you can tell by the way they talk to you, I think. Does the person seem interested in _you_? Do they want to know more about you, or do they seem to have some other reason for talking to you?”

 

“Oh...okay.”

 

Harry chuckled a little. “Does that answer your question?”

 

“I think so…”

 

“Good,” he said, grabbing his keys.

 

“I have two more?”

 

“Two more what?”

 

“Questions.”

 

“Er...okay then? We’re going to be late...”

 

“What do you and Louis do when he comes over?”

 

“Well...um, we, uhh….we…”

 

“Okay, see that’s what I _thought_. So why don’t you ever talk about him? Like ever.”

 

“It’s just...sometimes...you…” Harry’s face fell. Why did she want to know about that?

 

“That’s not fair, Harry. Even I know that.”

 

“Love, I haven’t even said anything.” Harry said, exasperated.

 

“But you’ve said a lot, haven’t you?”

 

Harry was beginning to get impatient. “What’s this about?”

 

“When will I find my person, Harry?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Like...that person who’s everything. And you can just sit with them for hours and do nothing, and they’ve seen all the weird things you do but they don’t care because they just get you...and you love them. Isn’t he your person, Harry?”

 

He fidgeted awkwardly. “Maybe at one point he was. Now I’m not so sure.”

 

“How do I find mine?”

 

“You’re not going to want to hear this, but first you’ve got to stop looking for one.”

 

“I don’t even need a person though. I just want a friend. You’re my only friend, Harry. How does it feel?”

 

“What about that other girl, Vi--”

 

“We don’t talk anymore.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“She did something really mean. Hence, why you’re my only friend.”

 

“Anger is not good for the soul. You should talk to her.” He paused. “I’ve been meaning to tell you...I’m going to America for a few days. For business.

 

“Why can’t I come?”

 

“Because you’ve got to go to school.” Clara rolled her eyes. “Denise is going to get here Wednesday. Be nice to her.”

 

“I’m always nice to her,” Clara said, defensive.

 

“What I mean is, don’t take out your frustrations on her.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Go have fun without me.

 

“Oh, I intend to.”

 

~~

 

**Harry**

Hey, just checking in. Wanted to let you know I’ve got some special instructions for Clara this time.

 

**Denise**

Hi, what sort of instructions? Is she okay?

 

**Harry**

She’s getting better. She’s got therapy from 4-5 on Mondays and Wednesdays. I’ll send you the address.

 

**Harry**

Also, can you please make sure she eats three times a day? If she doesn’t please let me know.

 

**Denise**

Yes, of course. I’m sorry to hear this. I’ll be there Wednesday morning before you leave.

 

**Harry**

Thank you.

 

~~

 

“Hi, Clara!” Violet said, walking over to Clara’s desk. “How’ve you been…?”

 

Clara looked up at Violet, clearly confused. “Why are you talking to me?”

 

“I was wondering if you wanted to be partners on the history paper?”

 

“Why don’t you partner with Elise? I’m sure you’ll have a much better time. I’m working alone.” Clara turned her head away.

 

“I’m sorry, C. It was a dick thing to do.”

 

Tears filled Clara’s eyes, much to her dismay. “Don’t call me ‘C’ anymore.”

 

Violet sat in the seat next to her. “I’ve been worried about you all summer. I’m sorry we haven’t talked, but you never gave me a chance to explain. My parents got divorced, C..Clara. And I had to spend the summer in Scotland with my dad. I wanted to make it up to you, I did. But you weren't here last year. I really missed you, Clara. Just give me another chance, okay? Let’s just work together.”

 

Clara never knew about Violet’s parents. “Fine, come over tonight and we’ll do the research questions. If you don’t mind ‘dealing’ with me.”

 

“Clara, that’s not what I meant.”

 

“What else could that mean?” Clara turned toward the brown haired girl. “You wanted a break from me? You got one.”

 

“You have to understand. I was going through a rough time, too. I couldn’t always be there for you. I was exhausted, C. You were too. “ She put a hand on Clara’s shoulder. “I’ll… see you tonight, then?”

 

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

 

~~

 

The doorbell rang, and Harry made his way downstairs to answer it. “Hi,” Harry said, a little surprised. “Uh…”

 

“I’m supposed to meet Clara,” she explained. “We’re working on a project.”

 

“Oh, erm…come in, come in.” He shut the door behind her. “Clara, you’ve got a visitor!”

 

“How have you been, Violet? Haven’t seen you around here in awhile.

 

“I’ve been better,” she said, fearing she might cry.

 

Harry was becoming concerned. “You alright?”

 

“I’ll be okay,” she said.

 

When Clara came down the stairs, Harry was whispering something in Violet’s ear. She was nodding along, and it looked like she was crying. Clara looked on with confusion as Harry hugged the girl. “You’ll be okay,” Harry muttered, patting the other girl  on the back. He left her alone in the entrance.

 

“Are you okay?” Clara asked.

 

“No.”

 

~~

“So...erm...the first part is about Henry the Eighth…do you want me to just...start?”

 

Clara collapsed onto her bed. “I don’t want to do any work, Violet.”

 

“But I thought…”

 

“I guess I just wanted to see you.”

 

“Oh...really?” Violet smiled.

 

“I’ve always liked you, Violet. It’s so annoying. Now that I see you, I just can’t be mad, and it frustrates the shit out of me.”

 

“Clara, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to cope.”

 

“Neither did I,” Clara said, defeated.

 

“Can...can I tell you something, C? I feel like I should be honest now.”

 

Clara sat on the bed. “Okay…”

 

“I really liked you. Like...I’d always want to hold your hand and stuff because I really liked you.”

 

“Oh. Really?” Violet nodded. “Me too...How do you feel now?”

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to stop crying since I saw you today. It just hurt so much.”

 

Clara got up and wrapped Violet in a hug. “I’m sorry about your parents. I didn’t know.”

 

“It’s okay...I’m just glad that maybe...we can be friends again?”

 

“I think I’d like that.”

 

~~

“How was your study date?”

 

“We didn’t study and it wasn’t a date.” She drew her knees to her chest.

 

“How was it then?”

 

Clara smiled. “Emotional, but...good, I think.”

 

“Good. So then I’ll be seeing Violet around more often?”

 

“I think so....I forgave her.”

 

“You never talked about what happened, love.” He sat down next to her on the bed.

 

“She...just said that what I was going through was too exhausting for her. And then we didn’t talk all summer. But today she told me it was because she was in Scotland with her dad.”

 

“You missed her.” His voice was sympathetic, like he knew all too well what she was feeling.

 

“When I saw her, I just couldn’t stay mad. Because she made me happy before she….you know. When Mum got sick, I had to switch schools in the beginning of the year, and she was the only one who talked to me.”

 

Harry shifted closer to Clara. “You never told me how important she was to you,” he said, hoping she’d say more.

 

“I sort of have a habit of keeping things to myself, if you didn’t already notice. But maybe I can get better.” She looked at Harry for support.

 

“I think you can.”

 

“She said she liked me.” Clara turned away, feeling embarrassed.

 

“And you like her too.” he concluded. “That’s exciting.”

 

“I don’t feel excited.”

 

Harry grinned. “You will, kiddo.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

Clara got out of bed, head pounding. She felt horrible, and didn’t want to leave the house. But she figured she had to. It was only a month into the school year and the monotony had already gotten to her. Waking up at seven am is no walk in the park, and she would never understand how Harry was so upbeat at six. “Life happens without you when you’re asleep,” he’d always say.

 

“Fine by me,” she’d retort, pulling the covers over her face.

 

She now stared into the mirror, looking her body up and down. She examined the scars on her uppermost thighs, relieved that they were scabbing over. She decided it was to best place to conceal everything, but her injuries had forced her to lie about wanting to go swimming all summer. “Don’t feel like it,” she’d say. It wasn’t a complete lie after all; she loved to swim but hated her body. She hated feeling naked, exposed. There was almost always an audience, too. The paparazzi loved to take pictures of Harry at the pool. It didn’t matter for him, though, because Harry’s body was perfect. She knew they couldn’t legally take pictures of her, but they’d still be looking; that alone was enough to deter her.

 

She hated the uniform she had to wear. She didn’t care much for wearing skirts, but she was required to. It was a pretty backwards rule if you asked her, but no one did. The shirt was yellow with a collar, and the skirt was navy blue. She threw them on and slipped into her mary janes.

 

“Clara, come down for breakfast!” Denise called.

 

“Not hungry!” she called back, coming down the stairs. “I usually just have tea!” A plate was waiting for her at the breakfast bar. Eggs and bacon.

Clara just went for the tea, downing it in slow sips. “Clara, you have to eat.”

 

Why was she being so uptight about this? Couldn’t Denise just eat the eggs herself? “But I don’t eat breakfast anymore,” she lied. “I don’t even get hungry until lunch.”

 

“We’re not going until you eat it, Clara.” Did Harry say something to her? He must have. Clara set her tea down and began wringing her hands together, becoming anxious. She didn’t have any desire to eat what was in front of her. Why couldn’t Denise understand that? She winced, but decided that she should try to eat it anyway.

 

“I need a fork,” she mumbled.

 

~~

 

Walking home that day, she felt exhausted. Really, properly exhausted. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but that didn’t mean she had grown to like it. Every day she’d get home and nap for two or three _hours._  Her head throbbed the same way it did  when she first woke up. She dreaded arriving home, since there was nothing worse than giving into one of these naps.

 

She’d wake up, barely able to open her eyes. Clara would always be extremely thirsty after one of these, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. She’d have to go to the toilet, making the mistake of getting up too fast. Then, she’d fall back onto her bed for a few seconds until the dizziness subsided. It was horrible, and it felt like there was always one more thing wrong with her that she didn’t want to address.

 

“Hi, Denise, m’gonna take a nap. Really tired.”

 

Denise put a hand on her hip. “But I made you a smoothie.”

 

“Can I drink it later?” This was code for “I’m not going to drink it, but thanks anyway.”

 

“It might give you some energy,” she suggested. Clara was already at the foot of the stairs.

 

“Can you just put it in the fridge, please? I’ll have it with dinner,” she conceded.

 

“Okay, sweetheart.”

 

~~

 

It was 9 pm when she finally woke up. The room around her was pitch black, a stark contrast to the bright afternoon she nodded off in. She squinted against the glare of her phone screen. She had two missed calls from Harry. “Shit,” she breathed. She tapped his name on the screen and let it ring.

“Clara?” Harry answered.

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Clara said, her throat scratchy.

 

“Why didn’t you answer?” he sounded confused.

 

“Oh, sorry. I was asleep.”

 

“You were _asleep?_ Clara, I called you at 3 London time and again at 7. What about therapy?”

 

 _Shit._ She’d slept through it. “Oh...crap, I...I just was really tired and I didn’t wake up ‘til now…”

 

“Are you serious?” Harry sounded slightly cross, but mostly concerned. “What time did you go to bed?”

 

“Like...3:30, I think.”

 

“Have you eaten?”

 

“N-not yet.”

 

“Clara, you can’t just forget about everything when I’m away.”

 

“I didn’t!” she exclaimed. “I was just exhausted…” She unlocks her phone and there’s a text from Denise.

 

**Denise**

 

Hey, Clara. Tried to wake you for therapy, but you were out of it. I called the office and said you couldn’t make it today. Dinner is in the fridge.

 

“Why didn’t Denise wake you?”

 

“She sent me a text saying I wouldn’t wake up.”

 

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” Harry asked. He said it in a voice that screamed  _don’t you dare lie to me._

 

“ _Yes_. Eight hours.”

 

“And you napped for nearly six?”

 

“I guess… Is that bad?” she asked, suddenly worried.

 

There was a pause as Harry worked out what to say. “Er...it’s not good. Just tell me if it keeps happening, okay? How was school?”

 

“It was fine. I was out of it all day.”

 

“Does that happen a lot?”

 

“What?”

 

“When you’re out of it. At school.”

 

“I guess. Why? I get my work done and stuff.”

 

“No, of course you do, love.”

 

“Uhm...okay?”

 

“You should go eat dinner, okay?”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

“I’ll be back Friday night. I miss you.”

 

“Miss you too.”

 

~~

 

Harry sighed and rolled over in bed. “That was Clara?” asked Louis.

 

“Yeah,” he said, a bit crestfallen.

 

“Is she alright?” Louis turned to Harry, propping his head up with his fist.

“I don’t know anymore.”

 

Louis frowned and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Don’t think so, Lou,” Harry said, sinking back into the pillows. “I should go anyway, I’ve got to be at the studio at seven.

 

“You’ve got three hours, Haz. Stay here. Stop worrying. It’s not like you to worry so much.” Harry wrapped his arms around Louis.

 

“If anything happened to her, Lou...” he says into Louis’ chest.

 

“Nothing will.” Louis reached out to touch the crucifix hanging around Harry’s neck and Harry prayed that it was the truth.

~~

 

To: **Clara**

 

Will be there at 4 today instead of tomorrow. Miss you x.

 

**Clara**

 

Miss you too. Hope you’re not coming home earlier because of me.

 

To: **Clara**

 

Miss you and being home. See you soon. Have a good day at school. xx

 

**Clara**

 

You know, my birthday is coming up soon…

 

Harry smiled because he’d already planned something for her and she was going to love it. He was sure of it.

 

To: **Clara**

 

Plane is taking off. Talk to you soon.

 

~~

 

“Clara!” Harry called, walking through the door. “I’m home!” He looked around for Denise, who he found reading a book in the living room.

 

“Oh, Harry! Welcome back. Er…” She put her book down and stood to greet him. “She didn’t eat dinner last night,” Denise said in a lowered voice. “It’s still in the fridge. And she hasn’t eaten since she got home from school.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, still drained from the plane. “Is she sleeping?”

“I’m not sure. She locked the door, but I didn’t know if that’s something I should be worried about. You were on the plane…”

 

Before she could finish her thought, Harry had dropped his bags on the floor and made his way to the foot of the stairs. “Thank you, Denise!” he called back, climbing the stairs. He rapped on the door lightly, hoping for a response.

 

“Clara? I’m home. Are you awake?” Harry waited a few beats. “Clara?” he said again, turning the handle. There was no answer.

 

“Shit,” he muttered, retreating to his room. He kept a key in a box under his bed, not that Clara knew that. Harry wondered if this was how parents felt all the time: horrified that something might happen to these little beings they had brought into the world. Harry didn’t bring Clara into this world, but he was there the day she was born. He held her, played with her and her brother when they were little, and sang to her when she sad. Clara was holding his hand when they lowered her mother into the ground. He threw two roses, and shoveled two piles of dirt, so Clara wouldn’t have to. Blood might be thicker than water, but Harry was certain that family was more powerful than blood ever could be.

 

He turned the key in the lock, praying for the best and preparing for the worst. He flipped the light on in her room, revealing her sitting on the bed, knees drawn. She was sobbing. “Clara,” he whispered, “what’s wrong?” She wouldn’t answer.

 

Upon closer inspection, Harry realized that Clara’s ankles were bleeding; She had pressed paper towels to the wounds. “It won’t stop,” she said, her voice barely audible.

 

The following events would become a blur in Harry’s memory. His ears rang as he rushed over, examining her. Wounds, some deep and some shallow, littered her lower legs. “What have you done? What have you done?” Harry said it so many times, that it became impossible to tell whether he was thinking it or saying it aloud.


	7. Chapter 7

The house felt empty even though Clara was just upstairs. The air had changed. Everything was quiet. There was a mutual agreement, at least for now, that Clara would cooperate with him.

 

In only a few hours, Harry had become the physical embodiment of restlessness. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t leave the house, not with Clara in such a state. So, he sat and waited, hating himself for not being able to help.

 

He had searched her room the night before, looking for anything she could hurt herself with. He knew it would compromise her privacy, but it had to be done. He took scissors, shaving razors, pencil sharpeners, anything. He threw them all away. The only detail of the current situation Harry could find solace in was that what Clara did to herself wasn’t a suicide attempt. If it was, she wouldn’t be home. She’d still be in the hospital, and he’d be alone. The doctors suggested that he check her into an inpatient facility, but he said no; he was almost certain that would make her worse. How would four white walls and a strict regimen help her heal? If she went to a mental health unit, she might get really good at pretending to be better in order to go home. He didn’t want that for her. “Absolutely not,” he’d said to the doctor. “I’m taking her home.”

 

Before Clara, he’d never spend too much time at his house. If he wasn’t touring, then he was still traveling, going anywhere to meet people. He’d stay at friends houses, vacation with friends, see his family. Anything. _Anything._ After Clara, he didn’t need all of that, because he was never alone anymore.

 

_“Harry,” Jeanie said, reaching out for his hand._

 

_He grabbed it, worried that she was in pain. “You alright?”_

 

_“No, I’m not, Harry. I’m really not.” Her voice was strained, and it looked as if she was pouring so much energy into keeping her eyes soft and caring, like they’d always been. Harry saw through it. “Harry, I’m going to be here for a while. I’m not sure how long, and I’m not sure if...if I’ll leave,” she managed._

 

_“Jean,” he breathed, attempting to remain composed. “You can’t say things like that.”_

 

_“Harry...you’re grown now. You’re not a boy anymore, so I can tell you the truth. I’m dying, Harry.” Harry shook his head violently as if to say “No, no, no.” He blinked the tears from his eyes, but they were unrelenting._

 

_Jeanie put his face in her hands. “Listen to me, Harry. There’s something I need you to do for me.”_

 

_“Anything, anything.”_

 

_“I need you to look after her. Look after Clara for me, please.”_

 

_Harry didn’t know what to say. He was honored that she’d want him to care for her child. But there was something chilling about the way she said it. It was like she’d already accepted whatever fate might plague her. She’d given up; he could tell. He knew it must be exhausting to fight a war against your own body. He couldn’t imagine. “You’ll be better soon,” he said, hoping that the action of speaking the words could make them true. “You can look after her yourself.”_

 

_“Harry...you have to understand, please. I’m not going to make it out of here. The doctors may not know it yet, but I do. I feel it in my soul, Harry. I’ve spoken to God, and I’ve made my peace. This is no place for her, Harry. I don’t want her to be here to see me like this. I’ve altered my will so that you’ll become her guardian after I’m gone. Just...take her home with you tonight.”_

 

_Harry had never been so distraught. Of course he’d look after Clara. Of course he would. “I will, I will, Jeanie. I promise I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”_

 

_“Thank you, my love.”_

 

~~

 

Clara was grateful to be home and in her bed. She knew that Harry could have left her at some facility, even though he never said so. After so many nights wondering what was wrong with her brain, she finally had a formal diagnosis: clinical depression. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her that, but hearing it was something entirely different. Hearing that your mood, your personality, is an illness? That’s earth shattering. Maybe she didn’t want to change anything. Maybe she could just stay right there in her bubble of self-loathing and never come out.

 

But she couldn’t do that. She promised Harry she’d try, that she’d really try, and she let him down. How was she supposed to face him? He’d done and been everything for her, and she just took it for granted. He was giving parts of his life away for her. Youth was supposed to be fun and adventurous. All Clara had managed to do since she got there a year ago was tie him down. He probably couldn’t even stand to look at her. She understood that; she couldn’t look at herself either.

 

There was a knock on Clara’s door, and Harry entered shortly after. He was holding a tray. “Made you a sandwich,” he said, placing it in front of her. “It’s your favorite. BLT.”

 

She looked down at the sandwich with a frown. She didn’t want it. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She knew he wasn’t going to leave until she finished it. He handed her two capsules, and she downed them, sipping from the glass of water in front of her. Clara winced as her gaze fell back to the sandwich.

 

“Brave face,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

 

She picked up the sandwich and bit into it.

 

~~

 

_“Ow!” Clara wailed, grabbing her knee. It bled and stung. Tears fell from her face. “Harry!” she screamed. A curly haired boy came running over to her. Clara was five and Harry was fifteen at the time._

 

_“Oi, what have you done?” Harry asked, kneeling down._

 

_“I t-tripped, and I f-fell, Harry.” she sniveled._

_“Tsk, tsk, that’s just no good, is it?” Clara shook her head no. “Alright, let’s go inside then. Hop on!” He crouched to allow the little girl to climb onto him._

 

_Inside the house, he sat her on the counter and rummaged for the first aid kit. “Clara, this is going to hurt.” he warned._

 

_“No, no, no.” she protested._

 

_“I’m sorry, but I have to clean your knee and it’s going to sting. I need you to put on your brave face,” he said, attempting to sound gravely serious._

 

_“What’s a brave face, Harry?”_

 

_“Well,” he said, smiling, “when you squint your eyes like it’s sunny out, and scrunch up your nose like this, then you’ve got your brave face.” he demonstrated. “And when you’ve got your brave face on, you become as brave as any superhero. Superheroes have to do things that sometimes hurt, right?”_

 

_“Right,” Clara agreed._

 

_“Then why do they do it?”_

 

_“It’s for the best,” she said, repeating something Harry had told her before._

 

_“That’s right, it’s for the best. Okay, now give me your brave face.” Clara obliged and scrunched her face up. Without warning, Harry began to clean her knee with antiseptic. Clara whimpered, but maintained her brave face until Harry stuck the plaster on._

 

_“There we go, all better. That wasn’t so bad.”_

 

_“No,” Clara said. “I’m brave, Harry. I’m so brave, right?”_

 

_“The bravest person I know.”_

 

_~~_

 

“Harry?” Evan said, answering the phone.

 

“Hi, Evan. Erm...I just wanted to talk to you about Clara. You’re not busy, are you?”

 

“No, I’m finished with classes for the day. What’s up?”

 

Harry scratched his head, trying to come up with the best wait to explain what’s been going on with his sister. “I was wondering if you’d want to stop by.”

 

“Is everything okay?” he sounded worried.

 

“Well, no. Clara’s been really upset since Jeanie...She’s in a really bad place.”

 

“Has she done something? Oh, Christ.” What did that mean? Had she been doing this even before coming to live with Harry.

 

“She’s...she’s been hurting herself,” Harry managed. “She’s been diagnosed with depression.”

 

The other end was quiet for a few beats until Evan whispered, “She promised she would stop.”

 

“What? Evan, what does that mean?”

 

“She started marking up her legs and stuff when Mom first got sick. I caught her one time in the bathroom. I didn’t say anything to Mom or anyone because I thought she’d stop. And I didn’t want Mom to worry about Clara when she…I’m so sorry, Harry. I should have told you.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“Fuck, is she okay? Did she try to…?”

 

“No, no, she didn’t. She’ll be better once the medicine starts working, but she’s really sad, Ev. I’ve never seen her like this. Have you?”

 

“Few times,” he said, voice pained.

 

“Will you come? It might cheer her up to see you. Can you make it for dinner tonight?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I reckon I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter! It really means a lot to me that you like the story. Please continue to leave comments if you like it or ask any questions and I'll make sure to reply. <3


	8. Chapter 8

“He’s coddling you, Clara. You’ve gotten spoiled.” Evan said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Mum would never let you stay in bed all day like this, but Harry’s got a soft spot for you.”

 

“I’m not spoiled.”

 

“Clara, you could tell him to jump off a building and he’d ask for a time and location.”

 

“What do you know?” Clara huffed, crossing her legs and sitting up. “You don’t even visit anymore.”

 

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Clara-bara. I get busy. Uni and all that.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Whatever,” he mocked, looking at her with sad eyes. “You know, you promised you’d never do this again.”

 

“It’s not that easy,” she said defensively, already wishing he’d leave. How could he know what that felt like? To be in a losing war with your own brain?

 

“Reckon it is, Clara. Just don’t fucking hurt yourself. It’s pretty easy.” Evan knew this was harsh, but he thought she needed to hear it. He wasn’t keen on tiptoeing around her feelings like Harry.

 

“Fuck you, Ev.”

 

“Alright, Clara. Fuck me for telling the truth. Fuck me for getting mad that you’re not taking care of yourself anymore. Fuck me, right?” His lip quivered, and he seemed about to cry. “And by the way, keeping in touch is a two way street. I tried calling, but you never wanted to talk.”

 

“I didn’t want to talk about mum with you. I just wanted to forget. And Harry…”

 

“He never brings it up, does he?” Evan concluded. Clara nodded in agreement, staring down at her hands. “That’s not good for you, Clara-bara. You gotta talk about it. You have to let it out and this isn’t the way to do it.” He gestured to her ankles. “You know better.”

 

“Apparently I don’t.”

 

“You know, you’re really bright, Clara. You were talking full sentences when you were two. You used to talk all the time when you were small. Then you stopped, because you got older and all those inhibitions come with age….” He seemed to have lost his train of thought for a few moments. “Anyway, all I’m saying is this isn’t you. It’s your, erm, illness.” He scratched his head.

 

“You were always such an eloquent speaker,” Clara said. She was annoyed, but it touched her to see her brother try to reach out to her. Growing up, he’d always been so private and standoffish. He never wanted to listen, so she never wanted to talk.

 

“You only get to do this once. So your life is precious and all that, you know? And you, Clara, you’re gifted in so many ways, and you’ve been given so many opportunities. You’d be a fool not to recognize that. I love you. Always will.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

~~

 

“How is she?”

 

“Well, she hates herself. Other than that, fine.” This sounded like a dig at Harry.

 

“Jesus, Ev.” Harry had forgotten how blunt and provocative Evan could be. He didn’t really like it. “What’s your problem?”

 

“My problem is this probably isn’t the first time she’s done this in your house, and it probably won’t be the last.” Evan was pissed. He’d always told his mother it was a bad idea for Clara to live with Harry. He loved Harry, sure, but he couldn’t help but feel vindicated. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m being a dickhead right now.”

 

“Yeah, you are.” Harry agreed, folding his arms to his chest.

 

“I just think you need to be more firm, you know? Authoritative.” He seemed to be quickly  losing his resolve.

 

“Are you okay, Evan?” Evan was usually vulgar, but hardly ever mean.

 

“No, I’m not, man. I just can’t see her like that. Not again. I’m sorry. You know you’re my brother. I wouldn’t be doing any better.”

 

Harry pulled Evan into a hug. “I know it’s a lot to stomach. Was for me too.”

 

~~

“How are you feeling today?”

 

“Okay, I guess.” Clara said, squirming in her chair. She hoped that this psychiatrist would be better than the last.

 

“Walk me through the last couple days. What’s happened? How did it make you feel?”

She sighed. The last few days were shit. She bet the woman across from her knew so too. But maybe it would actually help to talk about it. She had no idea. “I had to go to hospital again.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I cut my ankles up. It wasn’t that bad. But I felt really bad afterwards.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I really worried Harry. It’s really affecting him and it’s all my fault.”

 

The woman cleared her throat. “Have you thought of a different coping mechanism?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Like, when you feel these extreme emotions. Have you thought of other things you can do that aren’t destructive?”

 

“Well….Harry said I should learn the guitar. He said it would...erm, give me something to do with my hands.”

 

“Is that something you’d like to try?”

 

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

 

“I think it would be a good solution.” She paused. “Tell me more about what’s been happening.”

 

Clara didn’t want to. She didn’t want to talk about the things that made her upset, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about them with a stranger. Couldn’t she just be left alone? “My brother, Evan. He came to visit me the other day.”

 

“How was that?”

 

“It was awful. He was rude to me, and he was rude to Harry. He said that Harry doesn’t know how to take care of me.”

 

“Maybe he just didn’t know how to respond, so he responded with aggression.” Clara didn’t appreciate the conversation being turned back on her.

 

“Yeah, maybe.” It was going to be a long session.

~~

“Lou?”

 

“Hey, Harry.”

 

Harry smiled. It had even been that long since they’d seen each other, but Harry was already anxious to see Louis. Phone calls were nice, but not enough. “I can’t wait to see you, Lou.”

 

“I can’t wait either. You sure Clara won’t mind me tagging along?”

 

“No, no, she loves you. She’ll be too excited to notice anyway.”

 

Louis laughed. “If you say so… What about that other girl you were telling me about? Is she coming?”

 

“Oh, Violet? No, I imagine that’d be a bit awkward.”

 

“Why? I thought they were friends.”

 

“They _like_ each other, Lou.” Harry said, smirking to himself.

 

“If anything, that’s just more incentive. Wouldn’t you say?”

 

“I would not. Besides, I doubt her parents would even say yes.”

 

“You’re right. But it’d be nice not to have a third wheel, eh?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Who said Clara’s the third wheel, Lou? It’s _her_ birthday.”

 

“It’s also the twenty-eighth.” Louis said quietly.

 

“I know it is. But it’s mostly Clara’s birthday.”

 

“Yep, yep, sure.”

 

“The trip is for Clara.”

 

“Uh huh, yes, good.”

 

“God, you can be so insufferable.”

 

“But you love me anyway.”

 

“That I do.”

 

~~

 

“I think I want to learn guitar.” Clara said that night.

 

Harry was a little confused. “You didn’t like the idea much when I mentioned it.”

 

“When I’ve thought about it some more and I think it’s a good idea.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“So…can I have one of yours?”

 

Harry nearly snorted. “Absolutely not,” he said, mouth full.

 

“Aw, why not? Yours are so cool.”

 

“That’s precisely why not.”

 

“But you have so _many_.” She sighed, cutting into her hamburger.

 

“Why do you have to eat it like that?”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s _weird_.”

 

“ _I’m_ weird,” she said, spitefully stabbing her fork into a piece of hamburger.

 

Harry stared at her a few moments and began to laugh. “Yes, you are,” he agreed. “We’ll find you a guitar.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Cool,” Harry repeated.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Yes?” he asked, still amused from Clara’s odd declaration.

 

“I was thinking…”

 

“About?”

 

“Well, I don’t want to ask for too many things this year, but…..erm...Could I get a tattoo?”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “A _what?_ ”

 

“A tattoo. You’ve got loads of them.”

 

“What’s this about, love?” he asked tentatively.

 

“Well, I was thinking that after my, er, cuts, heal….I could tattoo my ankles. Like how yours say ‘Never Gonna Dance Again.’”

 

“What do you want yours to say?”

 

“I want it to say ‘Brave Face.’” she said, sounding less and less sure of herself. “So that I can look at it and remember to put on my brave face.”

 

Harry felt like crying. He had no idea those words meant so much to her. “Of course you can. Of course. When you're older.” Maybe he’d get it tattooed as well.


	9. Chapter 9

“Happy birthday to you,” Harry sang. To Clara, it was deafening. “Happy birthday to you,” he continued, turning on the light in her bedroom. “Happy birthday dear Clara. Happy birthday to…” Harry bent down to kiss her forehead. “You.”

 

“Wrong day.” Clara groaned, rolling over in bed. “What time is it?”

 

“Five.”

 

“In the _morning_?”

 

“I know it’s not your birthday until tomorrow.” He said, sitting on the edge of her bed.

 

“Just tell me why I’m awake, please.” she yawned.

 

“We’re going on an adventure.” Harry grinned, and if Clara had her eyes open to see it, she might have hit him with a pillow.

 

“Where?”

 

“Not telling.”

 

“Ugh. What about school?” she rubbed her eyes.

 

“You’re not going today. Or tomorrow. Or Monday. Don’t worry, though. I had your teachers email me your assignments.”

 

“Splendid.”

 

“So, you’ll need to pack some clothes and a bathing suit. We’ll be there from this afternoon until Monday morning.”

 

“Harry...you really...You didn’t have to do this for me.”

 

“Sure I did,” he said, beaming. “Hurry up, the flight is in four hours.”

 

“Where are we _going_?”

 

~~

 

“Hello everyone and welcome aboard flight 678 to Naples. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”

 

“I still can’t believe I’m...you...we...” Clara sputtered.

 

“Are you alright, love?”

 

“I absolutely am not. I’m going to Italy, Harry!” She was on the verge of squealing, but she refrained. It seemed like there were a lot serious business men that would get annoyed. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

 

“You deserve it, Clara. Really, you do. You’ve been through so much lately, and I’m just immensely proud.”

 

Clara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After all of that, everything she’s put him through the past few weeks, he was still proud of her. How could that be? She did everything wrong. She disappointed everyone, especially Harry. Her mother would not be proud, she was sure of it. So how could Harry be? “How can you say that? After everything I’ve done.”

 

“Do you want to know something? I admire you, Clara. You’re selfless, and you care so much about the things you love. The only thing that breaks my heart is that you don’t love yourself. But I believe that you will, with time.” Harry rubbed Clara’s shoulders. “It’s time to get excited.”

 

“You’re right,” Clara admits.

 

“Of course I’m right.” He paused. “Oh, by the way...Louis is joining us…”

 

“Are you flying out the rest of the band or…?”

 

“Just Louis.” he said, aware that he was being teased.

 

“I don’t want to intrude on your romantic getaway.”

 

“It’s your getaway, not ours.” he assured her. “Now, put your seatbelt on. We’re going to take off soon.”

 

~~

 

“Clara?” Harry said, amused. “If you don’t close your mouth, bugs will fly in.”

 

“How can I close it when everything is so beautiful?”

 

Sure, she’d been places on tour, but it was always just a one day thing. You’d never really get the chance to explore. Harry had told her they were in a seaside village called Positano. She’d already fallen in love. The buildings were astonishing, lighting up the view with vibrant colors. They were built into hills, each one looking like it’s own mysterious piece to a broader and astonishing puzzle. Being in this place made her feel like she was inside a painting. It was a far cry from the pale gray aesthetic of London. How could anyone be sad living here?

 

The hotel Harry had put them up in was another thing of beauty. It was called Le Agavi, and it sounded as lavish as it was. She was, to put it simply, in paradise.

 

“It’s very easy,” Harry said, disrupting Clara from her thoughts.

 

Clara grinned up at him. “Sure it is.” Clara set her bags down and ran out onto the balcony. “It’s stunning!”

 

“Want to go swimming?”

 

“Yes!” she exclaimed, without thinking. _Shit._ She couldn’t go swimming. Her scars would be on display. “Er...maybe,” she corrected herself.

 

“Are you joking?” Harry asked, leaning against the railing.

 

“I just, um…” She had just developed a fear of walking around in a bathing suit. That pretty much summed it up. “I’m a little tired.” she lied.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You seemed pretty energetic two seconds ago. Whatever it is you’re thinking about, Clara, it’s not going to prevent you from going swimming. Swimming in the most beautiful place, on the most beautiful day, with the most beautiful man.” Harry said, a cheeky grin on his face.

 

“Yeah, okay…” she said.

 

“I’ll be next door,” he said, pointing to the door that connected the two rooms. “Knock when you’re ready to go.”

 

~~

 

Clara looked down at herself, feeling uncomfortable. She failed to understand how her feelings in that moment could be stronger than the subconscious pull of the water in front of her. It was a stunning, electric blue. She’d never seen water like that.

 

Anxiously, she pulled off her t-shirt. She’d chosen a one piece suit, not feeling confident enough to show her stomach even in this relatively private setting. She turned to Harry, who looked a little disappointed. But maybe he was just lost in thought. “Louis just checked in. He’ll be down to join us soon.” Clara nodded, moving toward the water. “Wait.” Harry said.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re going in like that? With your shorts on?”

 

“What’s wrong with them? They’re fine to swim in.” she said, frowning.

 

“It’s not the Italian way. Did you even put on sunscreen?” Clara shook her head and Harry beckoned for her to return to the lounge chair. Groaning, she obliged. “You’ll thank me when your shoulders aren’t beet red tomorrow. Arms out.”

 

As Harry put sunscreen on her back, Clara wondered if he’d get mad about the scars. Maybe he’d just be sad again. She wouldn’t be Clara if she wasn’t making Harry sad. When he finished, she stepped out of her shorts and took the sunscreen from him. “Thanks,” she mumbled, fixated on the ground.

 

Harry eyes ran across the red lines on her thighs. They weren’t new, but they were fairly recent. He tried not to let his face fall when he looked at her, but maybe he’d failed. He could never tell exactly what she was feeling. This was why she didn’t want to go swimming. She didn’t want him to know. Well, he was tired of being kept in the dark all the time. He felt that he deserved to know more about her, far more than she was offering. “Louis will be down soon,” Harry said, his voice sounding far away.

 

“You already said that.”

 

“Did I?”

 

~~

 

**violetsunns :**

hey c why arent my imessages sending? are you ok? missed you at school…

 

**violetsunns :**

hey wanna hang out for your bday tmrw? like if you havnt got anything on or sumthin

 

Clara smiled at the messages.

 

**clarajoes :**

Heyyy what’s up? My phone doesn’t work cuz im in italy!!!!! Isn’t that cool? Harry surprised me

 

**violetsunns :**

yea its so cool youll have to send me pics ! im really happy for you i hope you have a good time tomorrow

 

**violetsunns :**

when will you be back? also i wanna ask you something

 

**clarajoes :**

Um...Monday I think but I’ll be back at school Tuesday

 

**clarajoes :**

What do you want to ask me

 

“Clara!” Harry calls through the doorway. “Get off your phone and get ready.”

 

“That was a touch rude,” Louis comments. “What he said but nicer,” Louis said to Clara.

 

“Ughh I’m talking to Violet, Harry. Give me a second.” She was thoroughly annoyed.

 

“We have to go, Clara. We have reservations.” As much as Harry would have loved to stay and tease her about Violet,  he knew he’d have plenty of time to do that at dinner.

 

“Ugh, fine,” she conceded, throwing her phone on the bed.

 

**violetsunns :**

um so i was wondering if youd like to go on like a date?

 

**violetsunns :**

when you get back. like out to dinner or something like that

 

**violetsunns :**

or like it doesn’t have to be formal like whatever you wanna do

 

**violetsunns :**

if you want to, idk you probably dont

 

**violetsunns :**

Clara?


	10. Chapter 10

 

_“Clara, you’ve been slacking,” Jeanie tutted, looking down at her daughter’s report card. “Two B’s? You don’t get B’s.”_

 

_“Well, I did this time, okay? Leave it. I did my best.”_

 

_“Obviously you didn’t. It’s because you spend so much time on your computer instead of doing you work,” the woman sighed. “You never go anywhere, you might as well spend that time revising.” Clara knew she meant well, she really did. But this made her blood boil, and her eyes threaten tears._

 

_“I’m doing my best, Mum! I am! I’m sorry I’m too stupid and I don’t go to the gym like Evan!”_

 

_“Don’t scream at me, I’m your mother!”_

 

_“No matter what I do it’s not fucking good enough. I’m not smart enough, I’m too fat, right? I eat too goddamn much. Right?!”_

 

_“Clara, you know you could do better. Stop making excuses for yourself. I’m not going to feel bad for telling you the truth.”_

 

_Tears streamed down Clara’s face. “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME I’M GOOD AT SOMETHING?!”_

 

_“Get out of my room! Leave me alone!” Jeanie yelled, pushing Clara toward the doorway. “I don’t want to talk to you, you’re being horrid!”_

 

_“Yeah, because I’m just so fucking horrid! Right, Mother? I’m fucking horrid and I should be more like Evan. Right, Mother? RIGHT?!” Clara’s throat burned as her mother slammed her bedroom door shut, leaving Clara out in the hall._

 

_“Don’t talk to me!”_

 

_“I don’t wanna fucking talk to you!” Clara panted. She couldn’t see straight, and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “FUCK!” she yelled, not knowing how to expel the intense anger she felt building like a kindled flame. She bit down on her hand and punched herself in the arms and legs._

 

_Clara let out another screaming sob as she fell to the ground, hitting herself. “Fuck you, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she repeated. She could hardly remember why she was upset; the feeling was that consuming. “Why won’t you fucking listen to me,” she breathed, sobbing in the fetal position on the hallway floor._

 

_“Clara?” a voice called. It was Evan. “Fucking hell, Clara. What’s wrong?”_

 

_“Leave me alone!” she yelled at him. “Piss off.”_

 

_Evan didn’t piss off. Instead, he crouched beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Get up,” he whispered, attempting to pull her up._

 

_“Go on. Tell me I’m being too dramatic. I don’t give a shit,” Clara said when standing. She sniveled, now shaking. A yawned escaped her._

 

_“You’ve tired yourself out. Go to sleep.” he said simply. There were no words of encouragement, no offerings of sympathy. Just like Evan._

 

_He was right though. She’d tired herself out. And she didn’t have the energy to be mad at him for telling her so._

 

_~~_

 

_“Hey, Jean. Thought I’d stop by and say hello whilst I’m home.” Harry said, shivering on the front steps of the Engelmann house. He smiled wide, feeling numb in his cheeks from the cold._

 

_“Oh, Harry! Come in, come in! You’ll catch your death out there!” she ushered him inside and pulled him into a tight hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Harry! Merry Christmas!”_

 

_“Merry Christmas, Jean.” He was beaming. “Where’s Evan and the little one?”_

 

_“Evan’s out with his girlfriend.” Jeanie said, shaking her head. Harry raised an eyebrow._

 

_“Girlfriend, huh? Where’s he taken her?”_

 

_“Oh just somewhere out to dinner. He gets annoyed if I pester him about it. She’s a lovely girl.” Jeanie smiles. “Clara, dear! We have a visitor!”_

 

_Harry wouldn’t have been able to express the adoration he felt for the little girl who walked down the hall shortly after. Her hair was a mess as always, and he thought it was the cutest thing ever. “Clara-bara!” he exclaimed, holding his arms out to her and bending down to her height._

 

_“Harry!” she ran into his arms and he kissed her forehead. “I’ve missed you so much, Harry.”_

 

_“I’ve missed you too! Erm...so you’re ten now?”_

 

_She nodded, pulling away from him. “Double digits.” She looked to her mother. “Mum, I want to show Harry something.”_

 

_“Alright, love. Have fun.”_

 

_Clara grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him upstairs to her room. “Harry, look at this!” She picked up a doll from her bed. “Mum got me your One Direction doll.” she said, laughing._

 

_“It’s the best one,” he said, unable to contain his amusement._

 

_“Harry?”_

 

_“Yes?” he said, mimicking her tone._

 

_“I saw on the telly that Louis is your best friend.”_

 

_“Okay…”_

 

_“I thought I was your best friend. That’s not nice.” Harry could tell that she was mostly joking, but there was some disappointment in her voice._

 

_“You will always be my best friend,” he assured her._

 

_Clara narrowed her eyes. “What about Louis?”_

 

_“Louis...is a different kind of friend.”_

 

_Clara frowned at him, and he shifted awkwardly next to her. “What does that mean?”_

 

_“Erm, well.... Evan has a girlfriend, doesn’t he?”_

 

_Clara nodded. “Yeah they kiss and hold hands and stuff. It’s gross.” Harry laughed._

 

 _“Well, that’s how I am with Louis. He’s my_ boy _friend.”_

 

_“Oh,” the girl said. “I didn’t know two boys could kiss and hold hands.”_

 

_“Or two girls,” he explained._

 

_“Hm,” she said, her brow furrowed in concentration. “So anybody can kiss anybody?”_

 

_“Exactly.” Harry watched the gears turn in Clara’s mind. It looked as if a whole world had opened up._

 

_“Is it a secret?” she finally asked._

 

_“Yeah, it’s super top secret.” He smiled._

 

_“Oh, okay. I won’t tell. I’m glad that you like the kisses and hand holding. I still think it’s gross.”_

 

_“That’s okay, love.” he said softly._

 

_~~_

 

“Happy Birthday, Clara!” Louis said, peeking into her room.

 

“Thanks, Louis.” Clara said, looking up from her phone. “Where’s Harry?”

 

“He just went to the store. He’ll be back soon. You talking to that girl?” he asked, stepping inside and leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Yeah. Well, sort of. She’s not answering me.”

 

“Ouch. What did you do?”

 

“I didn’t answer her,” Clara said, sighing.

 

“Oh,” Louis said, recalling Harry telling her to get off the phone last night. “She’ll get over it.”

 

“Yeah, I hope so.” She paused. “Louis?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Is it...is it your anniversary or something?”

 

“Not really. It’s just sort of a special day for Harry and me. Apart from your birthday.” Louis was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He focused his eyes focused on a point past Clara’s head.

 

“Sorry if it’s personal.” Clara said, noting Louis’ expression.

 

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “How are you?” Louis asked, focusing on Clara again.

 

“I guess Harry filled you in on everything.”

 

“Well…” Louis fidgeted against the wall.

 

“It’s okay. I’m alright. It’s hard sometimes, though. We’re in such a beautiful place right now, Louis, but I’d still be more comfortable inside doing nothing. It doesn’t make any sense.” She looked down at the floor.

 

“It does make sense. It’s just...counterintuitive.”

 

“Well, it doesn’t make sense to Harry.”

 

“He just wants to make sure you have a good time. It’s really important to him. You’re really important to him.”

 

“I just wish I wasn’t such a downer all the time.”

 

“You can’t help if you’ve got a mental illness, Clara. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

 _Mental illness_ . _You’ve got a mental illness, Clara_. The words sounded odd to Clara’s ears. Either way, they were true. And Louis was right. “He’s worried about me, isn’t he?”

 

“He’s always worried about you, luv.” Louis said, smiling. “He’ll never stop worrying about you because he loves you so fucking much. Pardon my language.”

 

Clara laughed. “Thanks, Lou.”

 

“‘Course, luv.”

~~

 

After telling Harry that she wanted to “get lost” somewhere, they spent the day walking the vibrant streets of Positano. Harry and Louis walked beside each other, always trailing a few feet behind. It amused them to see Clara so bewildered and excited. She would see a building or a statue and squeal, running up to it. “Isn’t it beautiful!” she’d exclaim breathlessly.

 

Harry wouldn’t have been able to count the amount of pictures he took of Clara. “She’s stunning,” he said to Louis. Seeing her that happy made his heart threaten to burst. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

 

Try as he might, Harry still couldn’t wrap his head around how Clara was feeling. It wasn’t as if he was oblivious to those sorts of struggles, he’d just never experienced them to such a damaging degree. He hoped to God that the smile he was seeing from Clara wasn’t temporary. All he wanted was for the happiness she felt on the day she turned fifteen to stay with her throughout her life.

 

Caring for Clara made Harry want kids of his own some days, and other days he was sure he wasn’t ready. He wanted to bring someone into the world and show them how to be kind and courageous, but wasn’t even sure that he’d figured it out yet. Family was everything to him, but he knew he didn’t always need to look ahead. There was so much in front of him, right there in the present. Like the little girl who wasn’t so little anymore.

 

Harry ran up behind Clara, scooping her up off the ground. “Let me down, idiot!” she yelled.

 

“Nnnnnoooopeee!” he said, spinning around, precious cargo wrapped in his arms.

 

“You’re embarrassing me in front of the Italians, Harry.” Clara said once he stopped spinning.

 

“Unfortunate,” he said, setting her down and placing a kiss on her head. “Follow me, we’re going to celebrate!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Louis laughed to himself, running to catch up.

 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,” Harry and Louis both sang, turning their heads to the sky.

 

Harry leaned down to Clara and sang, “Buon compleanno a te!”

 

“Happy birthday dear Clara,” sang Louis.

 

“Happy birthday to me,” Clara finished.

 

Bystanders clapped and waved, giving congratulations and words of encouragement. Clara beamed, and for a moment she forgot everything else.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

****

**clarajoes:** It really was the best birthday ever

 

**_Liked by violetsunns and 346 others_ **

 

**violetsunns** happy birthday!! <3 glad youre back!

 

**larry_in_love** wooow I wish I could vacation with harry lmao ur so lucky

 

**harrysxkiwi** happy birthdayyy

 

**harriestylinson** omg ur so spoiled haha

 

**gemmastyles** Glad it was a good one! Love you!

 

**annetwist** Can’t believe you’re 15 now, love! Miss you! Xox

 

**evanengelmann** happy birthday sis and be brave in the coming year

 

**harrys_ships** lmao wow brag much??

 

**beautifulhstyles** so annoying ew

 

**loukingofsass** @beautifulhstyles tf why r u hating? she did nothing?

 

Clara frowned. Maybe they were right. She was spoiled. She didn’t even deserve to live here with Harry. All she did was cause him to suffer. She was forcing him to grow up, and give himself away for her.

 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, causing Clara at look up from her phone.

 

“People are just rude for no reason.” she sighed.

 

“Who’s being rude to you?” he tilted his head, and his lips joined in a frown. Clara looked down at her phone. “Let me see,” he said, holding his hand out for her phone. Clara handed it to him reluctantly and watched as he scrolled through the comments on her post.

 

“Why isn’t your account private, love?” Harry said finally.

 

“Oh...I don’t really post much so I never really thought about it.”

 

Clara’s phone buzzed, and he looked down to read a text from Violet

 

**Violet**

I love you too. Please can I see you? x

 

Realizing that maybe he shouldn’t have read it, Harry swiped up on the notification. “Just, er, make it private, please.” Harry said, handing the phone back to her. “Only accept requests from people you know, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Clara said, her voice trembling as a wave of nausea overtook her.

 

Harry frowned. “You alright?”

 

Clara put her hands on her stomach and attempted to regulate her breathing. “I’m okay, just a bit...nauseous.”

 

“Does that happen a lot?”

 

“S-sort of....since I started the m-medication.”

 

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

 

“I thought it would go away...I didn’t think…” she trailed off. “Oh no….” Clara got up and sprinted toward the bathroom.

 

“Clara!” Harry called after her, grabbing a water bottle from her nightstand. He ran into the bathroom to find her in the middle of an upheaval. “Clara, dear…” He knelt beside her and held her hair, rubbing slow circles into her back. Just when he thought things could be normal again, he was thrown another curveball. “Drink,” he said, bringing the mouth of the water bottle to her lips. She sipped it, her mouth contorted with disgust.

 

Clara spit the toilet, trying to rid the rest of the waste from her mouth. Tears filled her eyes, and snot ran from her nose. She grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her face with it, letting Harry reach behind her and flush her dinner down the toilet. Clara trembled, on the verge of sobbing. “I’m useless, Harry.” Clara said finally. She could feel every dark thought bubbling to the surface. It was agony. “I’m useless. My brain doesn’t work, Harry. Why am I alive? I…”

 

Harry pulled Clara to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She smelled of bile, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “How can you say that about yourself?”

 

“Harry...I want to die,” she whispered. “I used to be afraid, but I’m not anymore. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.”

 

Harry froze. Chills ran up his side. Was this real? Was Clara actually saying this to him right now? He’d never been so terrified. The feeling encompassed him, devoured him, making him feel ill. She was happy. In Italy she was happy. A few minutes ago she was fine. Was this what things were going to be with Clara from now on? Just waiting for the other shoe to drop?

 

_No,_ he reminded himself. _She’ll get better. She will. You just need to help her._ It took all of Harry’s energy not to fall apart then and there. He wanted so badly to give into the pain he was feeling and just cry with her. But he had a responsibility. He’d still never fully understand why Jeanie wanted him to look after Clara. Sometimes he wondered if she considered what it would do to him. He knows it’s a selfish way to think, but in another reality he’s relaxing without a care in the world. He misses that.

 

But he loves Clara more. “You can’t say that. Please don’t say that,” Harry pleaded.

 

“But it’s true,” she said, her voice soft and frail. Clara was soft and frail. He couldn’t wait for her to be better. He couldn’t wait for his worry to evaporate, and for Clara to smile and laugh the way she once did here. Before her mother died, Clara was vibrant and hopeful. All she’d need to do is give him one of those brilliant smiles, and everything would fall away.

 

“If you died, Clara. I’d die right along with you.”

 

“Don’t do that,” she sniveled. “I’m not worth it. I don’t deserve you.”

 

“You’re worth everything,” he whispered. He was already exhausted. Of all of it. He couldn’t stand her like this anymore. He could hardly breathe. “Please try to open up your mind, love. Just say it to yourself, for me. Just say it.”

 

“I’m...I’m worth everything.” It was barely audible, and not terribly convincing.

 

“You are. You are.”

 

~~

 

The landline rang, and Harry was grateful that the sound disrupted him from his thoughts. He scrambled downstairs to answer it. He really didn’t care who it was. He didn’t care if it was a bloody telemarketer. At least answering the phone would make him feel useful.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello, erm...i-it’s Violet. Can I sp-speak to Clara, please? She’s not, er, answering me.”

 

Harry’s heart sank in his chest. “Hi, Violet,” he said softy. “Clara’s not feeling well.”

 

“Is she sad again?”

 

“She’s very sad, Violet.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Do you want me to give her a message?”

 

“Can you tell her I hope she feels better? I want to see her. I’ve got a gift for her.”

 

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll tell her.”

 

“Mr..er...Styles?”

 

“Just Harry.”

 

“Harry. I hope you feel better too.”

 

“Thank you.”

~~

“I don’t know if I can do this, mum. I’m scared.”

 

“Harry, my love. You can get through this. You can help her through it.”

 

“I don’t know how! The school is angry with me because she’s missed so many days. She’s falling behind and I don’t know what to do! Do I get her a tutor? Do I send her to hospital?”

 

“Do whatever _you_ think is best love. You’re her guardian.”

 

“I’ve been praying. I never used to, but I do. Every night. Every night I pray that she-sh...That she’s still there when I wake up. And how do I know how to make the right choice. I-I’m not her dad. Her mum is gone. I...I don’t know how to do this.”

 

“My son...What you’re feeling is how I felt whenever you were sad, or injured, or ill. Every decision I made for you, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. But you just have to follow your heart. You can’t do nothing. Make a choice, and if it’s the wrong one, find something new. You’re a parent now, my son. You are.”

  
Harry had never even thought about that before? _Was_ he really a parent? He’d always thought of himself as Clara’s friend, her caregiver. Never a parent. He supposed it was true, but the reality terrified him. Most parents his age only had to worry about changing nappies and picking daycares and primary schools. Clara was fifteen. She had to deal with a levels soon, then college, and _university._ But her mind was playing a nasty game. A nasty, self-destructive game, and she was losing it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains homophobia. If you are triggered by this please don't read it.
> 
> Hello everyone! I hope you are enjoying the story so far. I apologize that these past few chapters have felt a bit short, but I don't have as much time to write with school.

 

New prescription. That was all Clara needed. A new prescription. A new outlook, perhaps. How about a new mind? Clara didn’t believe it, and she didn’t think Harry did either. She still didn’t know why he was wasting his energy on her. She was a lost cause. She wouldn’t dare say so in front of Harry. She knew how strongly he felt. What she didn’t know was why. Why was Harry so hell bent on sacrificing himself for her? She knew it had gotten to him. She could hear it in his voice and see it in his smile. It must have been affecting his work too, right?

 

What if he couldn’t even write songs because of her?

 

The horribly selfish part was that Clara liked it. She liked when Harry fussed over her. She liked knowing that he checked on her at night. She liked it when he assured her and made her feel safe. But that was never supposed to be his job. She forced his hand. Harry was too nice, too kind-hearted. He was willing to give parts of his life up for her, and she loved and hated him for it. She hated herself for it.

 

“Clara? Love, it’s time to go.” Harry said, peeking into the room.

 

“I don’t want to. Don’t make me.”

 

“Clara, please don’t argue. You know you don’t have a choice.” Harry knew how Clara felt about the visits, but they were court ordered.

 

“It’s not fair, Harry! I hate him!” Clara threw her bag on the ground, her voice trembling.

 

“You can’t say that, Clara!” Harry said. Why couldn’t she just listen for once? Harry knew it was vile of him to think this way, but he somewhat looked forward to the times Clara wouldn’t be home. Things were more peaceful, and he could hear himself think without worrying about how she was feeling. It’s not that he didn’t care about Clara’s feelings when she was at school or with her father; he just took comfort in knowing that he wouldn’t have to deal with it for once. He loved Clara. He really, truly did. But she could be exhausting.

 

“He’s your father. You shouldn’t say that about him,” Harry told her sternly. When Clara said nothing in return, he took advantage of the silence to ask, “Have you got your medicine?”

 

“Yes,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the ground.

 

“It’s important that you take it every day, okay? So please don’t forget.”

 

“Jesus, Harry, I won’t.” She was being dismissive. Harry hated when she was dismissive.

 

“I love you,” Harry offered, trying to diffuse the tension between them. He never liked them to argue.

 

“I love you too,” Clara said, but it felt like more of a compulsion than a declaration, because she really disliked him in that moment. It hurt his feelings when she didn’t say it back.

 

“He’s waiting for you outside.” There was nothing Clara could do at this point.

~~

“Missed you, monkey.” Abe said, pulling Clara into him. “How have you been?”

 

This man had no idea the things his daughter had been going through. Clara didn’t really want him to know. “Good,” she said softly, climbing into the car.

 

“How was your birthday? I can’t believe it. You’re what?”

 

“Fifteen, Dad.”

 

“Right, of course I knew that. I was just being silly, monkey.”

 

“Right,” Clara said under her breath.

 

“Please don’t be short with me,” Abe said, pulling out of the driveway. Clara leaned against the window and watched her house disappear from view.

 

“Sorry, Dad.” Clara said, ready for the weekend to be over with.

 

“Listen, I’ve gotten a cake for you. We’ll have a little party. Just you and me, eh?”

 

“What, you couldn’t get Evan to come?”

 

“You know, I’m starting to get impatient, Clara. I just want to have a nice visit.” A nice visit. Clara knew she was being harsh, but that made her want to punch Abe in the face. He just wanted things to be nice when she saw him. He didn’t really want to know how she was doing, and he didn’t care for any of the more difficult parental responsibilities. He just wanted to have a “nice visit” twice a month.

 

Clara watched as her father reached to turn on the radio. She winced as she realized he was playing a political talk show.

 

“But you know, in the last five, ten years the opinion on LGBT has been changing drastically. That’s why it does not surprise me that India has now repealed the ban on gay sex--"

 

Abe turned the volume down abruptly. “Don’t want to listen to that.”

 

Clara narrowed her eyes. “It’s just the news.” She immediately regretted her words. She wasn’t really interested in challenging her father on this.

 

“I don’t want to hear about the queers, Clara.”

 

“Dad!” How could he say something so rude?

 

“What?” Abe provoked her, turning his head. His voice turned icy, and Clara was quick to make herself smaller.

 

“You can’t say that,” she mumbled.

 

“It’s just not natural, Clara. It’s not right.”

 

“They’re just people being themselves.”

 

“Are you gay or summat, Clara?” This wasn’t really a question, and Clara knew better than to answer truthfully.

 

“What? No…” Clara felt her heart sink, and she pinched her hand to keep herself from breaking into tears.

 

“Then I don’t care, and I don’t want to hear about fags on me car ride. Is that perfectly alright with you?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Good.”

 

_Please don’t cry, Clara. Please do not cry._

        ~~

 “Hey, Harry it’s good to see you, man.”

 

Harry smiled. It was good to be back in the studio. He had a lot he needed to expel. “It’s good to see you too, Mitch.”

 

 “How’s your girl doing?” Mitch asked, and Harry grimaced.

 

“She’s, uh, she’s doing better.”

 

“Good, good to hear.”

 

Harry fidgeted and scratched the back of his head. “Erm…so I wrote this song, but I just wrote the lyrics. I don’t know how I want it to sound. Can we work on it today?”

       

“Yeah, sure. Can I see it?”

       

Harry pulled a worn-out piece of notebook paper from his pocket and handed it over to Mitch. “I just don’t know if it’s any good.”

       

_When you wake up in the morning, Tired Eyes_

_Though your lips are curved I see through your disguise_

 

_When you look behind you’ll see_

_The past is farther than it seems_

 

_And the pride that you once felt has died_

 

_Open up and see_

_The world’s less empty_

 

_Open up and feel relieved_

 

_Go to sleep, Tired Eyes_

_Share your burdens, make them mine_

_There is nothing I would hide from you_

_There is nothing I would rather do_

_Well your heart is insecure_

_And in your head you’re screaming for_

_The simple nights and simple days before_

_You’re calling out for her_

_But she’s gone_

_And you’re waking to an unforgiving dawn_

 

_Open up and see_

_The world’s less empty_

 

_Open up and feel relieved_

 

  _Go to sleep, Tired Eyes_

_Share your burdens, make them mine_

_There is nothing I would hide from you_

_There is nothing I would rather do_

 

_‘Cause when you’re lonely, so am I_

  _So am I, _I’m t_ errified_

_And when you’re breaking, so am I_

  _So am I, I’m terrified_

 

_‘Cause when you’re lonely, so am I_

  _So am I,_   _I’m terrified_

_And when you’re breaking, so am I_

  _So am I, I’m terrified_

 

  _Open up and see_

_The world’s less empty_

 

_Open up and feel relieved_

_Go to sleep, Tired Eyes_

_Share your burdens, make them mine_

_There is nothing I would hide from you_

_There is nothing I would rather do_

 

_Go to sleep, Tired Eyes_

_Share your burdens, make them mine_

_There is nothing I would rather do_

_Nothing I would rather do_

 

Mitch frowned at the words for a long time. When he finally spoke, he said, “I like it.” He wanted to ask who it was for, but he was fairly certain he already knew.

 

“You do?” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Everything that he’d gone through the past month was on that page. It hurt even to read it. But this meant he could make it something good.

 

“I’ve got some ideas for it.” Mitch said, reaching for his guitar.

 

 _You’ve got this,_ Harry told himself, _This is Clara’s song._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked Clara's song :,) Please remember to leave kudos if you haven't and to leave a comment if you liked it. I know it's easier not, to but feedback means so much, and otherwise I can't tell if you liked it, and I don't know what you might want to see in future chapters. Don't be a ghost reader aha! Thanks for making it through chapter twelve! More on the way ;)


	13. Chapter 13

 

“Harry?”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“Can I...er..hang out with Violet tomorrow night?” Clara said, looking at the ground.

 

“Sure. Do you need a ride?” Harry asked, peeking into the lid of the rice on the stovetop. Clara appreciated that he wasn’t looking at her, because she was embarrassed.

 

“Erm...yes…”

 

Harry furrowed his brow and leaned against the counter to face her. His lips were pressed into a line, and he looked to be a mix of perplexed and amused. “Where to?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Er, we were, erm, thinking of hanging ‘round Camden market. Get something to eat and uh shop a bit.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He knew that was a really dense place, especially on weekends. He was afraid of her getting lost, but he didn’t want her thinking he didn’t trust her judgement. “Er...okay. I’ll pick you up before it gets dark, yeah?”

 

“I mean you don’t have to drive. We can take the tube…”

 

“No, I’ll drive you.” Harry cut her off. He didn’t like the idea of her taking the tube alone. The fact that she’d be with a friend made him feel a bit better, but he couldn’t help the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. “Just be careful, please.”

 

“I’m not stupid, Harry.”

 

“I didn’t say you were.” Harry said, frowning. He didn’t think she was incapable of navigating a marketplace, for God’s sake. After a moment he said, “How was your dad’s? You haven’t said anything about it since you got home.”

 

“Maybe ‘cause I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Did something happen?” he asked, worry spreading through his chest.

 

“My father happened.”

 

“What did he…”

 

“I just found out how he really feels about me.” Clara said. Her voice was sour.

 

“Did you come out to him?” Harry asked, feeling extremely confused. Why would she do that? She was barely ready to come out to Harry, let alone her father. He didn’t think she’d want to be vulnerable enough to share that with Abe.

 

“God no.” Clara said, running her fingers through her hair. Should she even tell Harry? What would be the point? “He said that being gay is ‘not natural’ or some shit.”

 

“Clara...I’m sorry you had to hear that. He’s not...he’s not a bad guy. He’s just old, you know?” Harry knew that this was no excuse, but he hated that Clara resented her father so much. Fathers often weren’t perfect, but he knew he regretted neglecting the relationship he had with his own. It maybe wasn’t such a good idea to rationalize Abe’s actions, but the alternative was hatred, and he just couldn’t encourage that.

 

“Why do you like my dad so much, Harry? Even when he does fucked up shit like this, you still defend him. He had the stupid fucking radio on and they started talking about LGBT and he just turned it off and said he ‘didn’t want to hear about fags.’ How can you just stand there and say ‘Well, he’s old, so it’s okay’?”

 

That was it. He was sick and tired of Clara acting like this. He didn’t know if the meds were making her irritable or what; he just knew that it was unacceptable. He considered himself to be pretty lenient in all regards. He trusted that she’d revise on her own, and manage her time. He also trusted that she’d act respectfully. Now he was thinking he might have been wrong to do so. “You can’t talk to me like that.” Harry said, his eyes widened in disbelief. “Why do you think it’s okay for you to talk to me like that? I’m an adult, Clara, and you’re a child. I need you to trust that I’m acting in your best interest. I’m your _parent_ , now, like it or not. You can’t just dismiss me like that.” He paused. “Tomorrow night is Sunday. I don’t know if you should be going out on a Sunday. _Especially_ to Camden market.”

 

“Harry, no! Violet is already upset with me for flaking on her.”

 

“If you’re going to act like a child, I have to treat you like one.” Harry said, determined to hold his ground. He wasn’t actually sure if he’d ever actually disciplined her before; he didn’t like the way it felt.

 

“It was supposed to be a date,” she mumbled.

 

Harry’s face softened and he felt a pang of guilt. Would it be her first date ever? How could he deny her that? Especially after what she went through with her father. No, he had to be firm. He wanted her to respect him as a friend _and_ a parental figure. “I...I’m sorry Clara Bara. You can’t go.”

 

“Great, Harry. Thanks for finally exercising your authority. How does it feel?” she spat at him.

 

Harry wasn’t going to let her words affect him. He knew she was hurting, but he just couldn’t let her behavior slide anymore. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes,” he said simply.

 

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

 

“Well, you’re eating it anyway.” Harry said, turning his attention back to the stove. He wasn’t angry, he was just annoyed. She’d never been so irritable. Maybe it was the medicine.

 

Clara contemplated making a snarky response, but she didn’t think there would be a point. Harry had made up his mind, and she certainly wasn’t going to change it. She didn’t know why she got so easily angered. Things like that just made her upset, and she tended to lash out when she was upset. She knew Harry didn’t deserve that. She’d have to do better.

 

~~

Harry didn’t think he’d been this excited in a while. He was too focused on Clara most of the time to think about anything else. He knew that wasn’t healthy. And that’s why he was going out. A real, proper night out. After doing so much for Clara all the time, it was time to do something for himself.

 

Clara had asked him why she had to eat dinner when he wasn’t. “I’m going out,” he told her with a smirk. He refused to give any more details than that. He just wanted that night to be for him. If Clara wanted to sit in her room and sulk, that was her issue. Okay, that was a bit harsh, but he was too relaxed to care.

 

Harry took a seat in the booth across from Nick, who was already sipping a cocktail. He slid a glass over to Harry. “Here, have some.”

 

“I’m good, Nick.” he said. Harry knew it was odd to go to a bar without drinking, but he came for the atmosphere and the people. Harry smiled, he’d always felt a sort of kinship with gay bars that he’d never felt anywhere else. He knew they were loud and vulgar, but he appreciated the sense of community he felt whenever he went to one. Not to mention there was no guesswork involved when chatting to guys.

 

A few men started to look over at him and he smirked, enjoying their gazes and basking in them. This was what he’d been needing. A breath of fresh air. He turned to Nick, who was already finishing his first drink.

 

“If you’re not going to participate,” Nick drawled, “Will you be a dear and get me another?” Harry laughed. He knew Nick was playing it up for fun and it made him look like an idiot. He’d only had one drink.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

Harry made his way to the bar, leaning against the countertop on his forearms. “Can I get a beer, please?” he asked, feeling the eyes of a man next to him. He shuffled away and waited for the drink. “Cheers,” he said, grabbing it.

 

There was a collision halfway back to his and Grimmy’s booth. “Shit,” a man muttered. His shirt was drenched, and Harry watched as he attempted to wipe the excess liquid off of it. The man was carrying a newly emptied glass, and Harry looked down to realize his own shirt had been splattered as well.

 

“Shit, sorry mate.” Harry breathed, realizing what he’d done.

 

“Sod off,” the man said. He still hadn’t even looked up. “Now I’m going to smell like a right drunkard.” He finally met Harry’s gaze, and Harry could have sworn that the man blushed. He was around Harry’s height and had dark brown hair and eyes. He was beautiful.

 

“Erm…” Harry began, trying to find the right words. “I’m Harry?” That definitely wasn’t it.

 

“What a displeasure to meet you, Harry,” the man said. His remark wasn’t hostile, though; it sounded like friendly banter. “I’m Eliot.” His demeanor had changed so quickly that Harry wondered if Eliot recognized him.

 

“Can I...erm...buy you another...shirt?” That was not it either. “Or drink,” he corrected himself. Why was he suddenly acting like an idiot?

 

“Both would be nice, Harry.” Eliot said, peeling the wet shirt from his abdomen. His head tilted and he narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Wait a minute...you’re that singer.” he said, his face lighting up.

 

“Heh, yeah…” Harry said, losing focus. He didn’t mean to stare at Eliot, but he was mesmerizing.

 

“My niece loves you!” he said, laughing to himself. He perked up suddenly at the sound of his phone. “Shit,” he said, looking down at the screen, then back at Harry. Harry could tell he was about to leave, and he sighed to himself. “I have to go. Goodbye, Mr. Styles.” Eliot handed his empty glass to Harry and gave him a wink before shoving past him in the direction of the exit.

 

Harry stood alone in the middle of the bar wearing a drenched shirt, holding two empty glasses, but for some reason there was a grin on his face.

 

~~

 

“Violet?” Clara said into the phone. “Violet, will you listen to me, please? I’m sorry. I know it was important to you. It was important to me too.”

 

“I just…” Violet began, “It just feels like you really don’t want to see me.”

 

“Of course I want to see you!” How could she ever think otherwise? Clara thought about Violet more than Harry. And every day she didn’t see her just...wasn’t a good day. “Harry said I can’t. I’m in trouble.”

 

“Why would you be in trouble? He never punishes you.” Violet didn’t sound convinced.

 

“He was mad because I’ve been talking back to him a lot.”

 

“Why would you do that? He’s so nice?”

 

“Ughh, I _know_ that,” Clara said defensively. “I just get really angry sometimes…”

 

“Angry at what, Clara?”

 

“I don’t know! The world? Myself, Harry. I don’t know, just...I’m sorry, okay? He said I can’t go.”

 

Violet sighed through the phone. “Fine, whatever. See you at school then.”

 

Clara panicked. She really didn’t want Violet to be mad at her. Clara couldn’t stand to be in some petty fight, and she didn’t want to end the call on a bad note. What if Violet didn’t even want to be her friend anymore? Clara wouldn’t’ want to be her own friend, she was way too draining to be around. But then again, there was Harry. He was more important, wasn’t he? Right?

Clara took a deep breath and said, “Wait! Wait, wait I’ll be there.”

 

“But you said…”

 

“I’ll convince him,” she lied. “He won’t say no to me. I’ll be there. Promise.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I’m sure.” Clara said, but it was another lie. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. And now she’d promised to what? Sneak out? The line went dead and Clara sank into her bed.

 

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Fuck!” Clara banged her head against the headboard. She did it again, and again until her head throbbed.

 

_Why do I do everything wrong?_

 

Why couldn’t she just feel better? What was wrong with her? She didn’t even feel bad for lying to Violet, or for what she was about to do to Harry. She felt empty, stupid. She was sorry for herself, and no one else. She used to feel everything all at once. When did she become so selfish? She didn’t really care, and that scared her.

 

Tears formed in her eyes, and she closed them. She hoped the pain in her skull could distract from the emptiness in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think of Harry finally going out again? How do you feel about Clara's brewing rebellion? Are you losing sympathy or is it easy to understand why she acts out like she does? Do you think Harry should have reacted differently? Thanks for reading and please continue to leave comments with any questions or suggestions and leave kudos if you haven't. (I'm a hoe for comments just saying.) Also, thank you for the lovely comments on the last chapter! If you left a comment last time be sure to check the thread fro my reply! Thank you so much for following Harry and Clara's story with me for thirteen chapters. It means the world. More to come...


	14. Chapter 14

_“So, erm, your mum tells me you’ve got a girlfriend.” Abe said, sitting opposite Harry in the living room. Abe came over a lot even though he and Jeanie were divorced and he moved to a little flat in London. Harry supposed he just liked seeing his family, and there was no fault in that. Today Abe was helping Anne fix some pipes that had burst during the snowstorm. Harry looked up from his book in confusion._

 

_“No, I don’t.” he said, now extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if he should lie or not._

 

_“You know, when I was sixteen-- your age--I had a girlfriend called Elise. Sweetest thing you’d ever meet. I used to go out into the fields to pick wildflowers for her. She’d tie these little ribbons ‘round them and bring them to the old folks’ home. God, I was so in love.” Abe’s eyes lit up at the memory, and Harry relaxed a little bit. He smiled, because he didn’t expect the story to be so wholesome._

 

_“Then what happened?” Harry asked, a bit intrigued._

 

_“Er, then she went to uni to become a teacher, and I went to work as a carpenter with me dad.”  Abe paused a moment, unsure of what to say. “Won’t you tell me about her, Harry?” he pressed. “Your mum says you two go on dates all the time. You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t ya? That’s a good quality to have. A man who wears his heart on his sleeve is a man who stays true to himself, you know.”_

 

_Harry put his book between his knees and contemplated what to say next. Finally, he decided that if Abe didn’t accept him, Harry didn’t want to have him in his life. “I haven’t got a girlfriend.” Harry repeated again, slowly._

 

_Abe furrowed his brow. “Why would your mum lie about summat like that, lad?”_

 

_Harry scooted to the edge of the chair and took a deep breath. “She didn’t lie. It’s just that I haven’t got a girlfriend…I’ve got a boyfriend.” Harry gulped and prepared for the worst._

 

_Abe blinked, struggling to process what he was hearing. “What do you mean, lad? What do you mean you’ve got a boyfriend?” His voice was steady and level._

 

_Harry shrugged and folded his arms. “I’m together with a boy, Abe.” He looked at the ground and waited for the other shoe to drop. But there was only silence._

 

_Abe wasn’t sure what to say. He knew it wasn’t right for two boys to be together like that. But how could he be angry? It was Harry. The same Harry whose diapers he had changed. In any case, it wasn’t his business. Harry was not his son. He sighed, wringing his hands together. “Help me understand…” he managed to say. What would cause someone to feel that way? The concept was alien to him, and he’d been taught all his life that it was wrong. But he knew there was more acceptance for that sort of thing nowadays. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to push him away._

 

_“I like him the way you liked Elise. And he likes me too.” Harry gave the man a sad smile._

 

_Abe took another deep breath. “Harry, I love you. Always will. I don’t think it’s right for you to be with a boy. I’m sorry, lad, I can’t agree with that. But you’re not mine, Harry, and if you’re happy, it’s not me place to interfere.” he said tentatively._

 

_Harry began to cry. “I am happy, Abe.”_

 

_“That’s good.”_

 

_“I didn’t ask to be this way. I can’t help it. Really, I can’t.”_

 

_“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Harry.” Abe said, getting emotional. Somehow he felt as if his entire perception of Harry was changing. He didn’t like it._

 

_“Thank you.” Harry said, sniffling._

 

_Abe didn’t know what he was being thanked for._

 

_~~_

 

Clara sat in her room, fiddling with her guitar. It was a three-quarters sized one; she couldn’t get her arms around the other ones. She remembered how she was upset about needing to get a baby guitar. Harry was quick to remind her that Ed Sheeran also played a “baby” guitar.

 

Her fingers were a bit sore from the transition to steel strings, but she was proud of herself for having mastered the g, c, d, e minor, and a minor chords. Those were easy. She practiced her strumming as she thought about Harry some more.

 

She began to second guess her promise to Violet. Clara had never done anything like this before. It felt absolutely wrong to completely disregard Harry’s wishes, but it felt as if she didn’t have a choice. She hated being in the house all the time. As big as it was, it made her feel trapped inside of herself. There was no escape.

 

Clara looked in the mirror as she played and wondered what she might wear. She wondered how she would get her hair to stay in place. She wondered if it even mattered. Maybe a dress was the way to go? Then would she have to shave? Then again, it was probably best not to show off her legs.

Jeans would have to do. Clara usually asked Harry what to wear, seeing as he was a literal fashion icon. That wasn’t an option today.

 

“I don’t know,” she sang to herself; It was lazy and improvised. “Whether to stay or to go.” She strummed a little faster. “I don’t know who to let down.”

 

“And I don’t care,” she continued, “what I wear. ‘Cause Harry’s gonna lock me in my room when I get home.”

 

She put the guitar down and sighed to herself. Maybe she should write a note? Then he wouldn’t be as worried, right?

 

_He’ll still be very worried, Clara._

She pushed the thought away as she fished her English notebook from her book bag. Clara pulled the pencil from the spiral and began to write something.

 

_Harry, I’m sorry for the way that I acted last night. I know you’ll be really disappointed in me for leaving, and I understand that. I don’t want you to worry even though I know you will. I’m not sure why you were were all that mad at me. It was really hard for me to hear my dad say that, and then you said I couldn’t go out with my friend? I know I’ve been really irritable and I’m sorry. Don’t give up on me, please,_

 

_Love, Clara xx_

Her phone buzzed with a message.

 

**Violet**

Ok my mum’s taking me in 20 mins. Meet you there ok?

 

Clara smiled and typed out a response.

 

_Yeah see you soon_

 

**_Good ok I’ll see you at like 7:30 ish_ **

 

_Ok sounds good_

 

~~

 

Clara almost felt sick to her stomach as she neared the train station. It was starting to feel like fall, and she pulled her coat closer to her chest against the wind. She’d never actually taken the tube by herself, but how hard could it be?

 

A wave of dread engulfed her as she approached the Underground sign. She descended the steps with trepidation, repeating the stops in her head.

 

_Hampstead to Camden Town, Hampstead to Camden Town, Hampstead to--_

 

Suddenly, she felt a large body, followed by a menacing, “Watch it, love!”

 

Clara’s eyes widened as she scrambled away towards the ticket machine. Everything went so much faster with an oyster card, but Harry didn’t think she used transport enough to warrant getting one. He was right, but it was not helpful in this moment. She tapped the “Day Travel Card” button on the screen and tried not to think about how dirty the machine must be.

 

Her phone buzzed to alert her that the train was arriving and she took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn’t screw up for once.

 

~~

 

“Clara!” Harry called as he got through the door. He sighed. It had been a draining day at the studio. “Clara, I’m home!” He waited for a response, and when none came he figured she must be asleep.

 

“How many hours can someone nap?” he asked himself, climbing the stairs to her room. The house seemed too quiet. He didn’t have a good feeling.

 

“Clara?” He knocked on the door. There was no response again. He opened the door to find that Clara was not home. There was a note on the bed, and he picked it up, scanning the words.

 

So she just left? Just like that, she decided to disregard him, her safety? Maybe this girl, Violet, wasn't such a good influence on Clara. He was angry that she would do something like this, but he was mostly hurt. Clara had hurt him a lot in the past, but this was blatant; he didn’t know what to do. What _could_ he do? Ban her from leaving the house? A fat lot of good that would do.

 

Maybe it was his fault. Perhaps he was just too mean, so she felt the need to lash out. What if he just wasn’t cut out to be a parent? Panic set in as he realised he didn’t know where Clara was or if she was okay. What a horrible guardian he was. Clara deserved better, and Evan was right about him all along. Harry didn’t know how to raise her. He had fooled himself into thinking he could be her friend and her guardian. He supposed he was wrong.

 

Harry got out his phone and called Clara. After six long tones, he heard her voice on the other end. “Hi,” she said.

 

“Clara, where--”

 

“This is Clara,” she continued. “I can’t come to the phone, so please leave a message. Bye!”

 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed. “Goddamnit, Clara!” The line beeped. “Clara, it’s me. You’ve really worried me. Call me back this instant. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you, okay?”

 

Harry opened the Find My Friends app to see if he could figure out where she’d gone. He knew there was a chance that she never made it to Camden Town. “Shit.” Her location wasn’t appearing. Either her phone was off, or she turned off location sharing. “Shit, shit, shit. Clara, why are you doing this to me?”

 

Harry’s eyes drifted over to the journal on her dresser. There was a pencil in it, and maybe she’d just been writing in it. He went over and pick it up, opening to the last page with writing on it. He frowned. He didn’t know she kept a journal.

 

_Dear Journal,_

 

_I don’t think Harry wants me anymore. I’m too much for him. He’s got more important things to deal with and I’m just holding him back. He won’t admit it, but I’m his burden. I have been ever since I moved in a year ago. I think sometimes I’m mean to him on purpose. I do things I think will make him mad because I’m mad at myself. Does that make sense? It’s like I want him to see that I’m not worth it anymore. Every day I wake up in his house and eat his breakfast and go to the school he pays for, I feel like a fraud. I’m just encompassed with guilt every day, and I don’t know how to get out of it._

 

_I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong. Violet kissed me at school the other day. I was so happy, but then I got upset. I don’t think I’ll ever be well enough to be a good friend to her, let alone a girlfriend. And now she wants to go on a date and hold my hand between classes. With our fingers interlaced so everybody knows. That makes me really anxious and I’m very private. I’d rather the whole school didn’t know I’m gay. Why can’t I be normal?_

 

_One day Harry is going to realise that I’m not what he signed up for. Once he gets rid of me he’ll be happier, and what happens to me isn’t that important I guess. I just want him to be happy, because I don’t really deserve it after everything I’ve put everyone through._

 

_Maybe Mom would know what to do. I miss her every day even though I try not to think about her. I try to make it look like I’m okay but I’m broken inside. Sometimes I think that if I die, I’ll finally see her again. I looked it up and it has been 215 days since she died. I can’t even tell if the medicine is working because I’m grieving her so badly. I don’t know how people can live like this._

 

_Clara_

 

~~

 

 _I’m an idiot,_ Clara thought to herself. _How can someone be so incredibly dense?_   Her phone had died. _How could you forget to charge your fucking phone, Clara?_

 

As Clara got off, she realized that she was not at Camden Town. She was at Mornington Crescent Station. She was also in a predicament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's another long chapter to follow my series of shorter ones! How are you liking the story so far? Did the flashback make it clearer why Harry reacted so defensively about Clara's dad? Do you think he should have read her journal? Leave a comment if you liked it or have thoughts and/or requests. Do you dislike that things like Clara getting a guitar and kissing Clara aren't being explicitly described in the story or is it okay? Leave kudos if you haven't! And just to clarify: This story is tagged Harry/ofc because of his relationship with Clara, not because there will be a romantic Harry/ofc relationship. I don't consider all tagged relationships to be romantic so I'm sorry if that confused or disappointed anyone.


	15. Chapter 15

 Harry eyed Clara’s laptop. It had to have her texts on it. Maybe they could tell him where she was. He opened it tentatively, trying not to feel bad about the breach of privacy.

 

 Password. He didn’t know her password. What was the hint? _Sweet Creature._ He smiled.

 

sweetcreature

 

_Try again._

 

werestillyoung

 

_Try again._

 

we’restillyoung

 

_Try again._

 

youbringmehome

 

That was it. His smile turned to a grimace when he remembered why he needed to get into her computer.

 

He pulled up the conversation between Clara and Violet.

 

_Ok my mum’s taking me in 20 mins._

 

**_Yeah see you soon_ **

 

_Good ok I’ll see you at like 7:30 ish_

 

More texts started to come in all at once.

 

_Clara? When you getting here?_

 

_Clara it’s 7:30 I’m waiting for you by the station let me know when you’re here_

 

_C???_

 

_This is really not cool_

 

_Fucking answer me! It’s been an hour_

 

_Clara I’m getting worried_

 

_I called my mum to get me_

 

_Idk what happened but this is so not chill I’m really pissed Clara_

 

_Unless you’re dead_

 

“Shit,” Harry breathed. “Clara, where are you?” He typed out a response.

 

**_Violet, this is Harry. Clara didn’t come home tonight. I’m typing this from her computer. I’m not sure where she is but I’m going to look for her right now._ **

 

_Wait what? I’m really sorry!!!! I don’t know what happened!!_

 

**_I’ll let you know when I find her._ **

 

_Ok when you find her don’t be mean_

 

Harry put Violet’s number into his phone and shut the laptop.

 

    ~~

 

Clara had awkwardly asked when the next train back to Hampstead was. Thing is, people were busy and didn’t care about her. Finally, someone had let her look at the schedule on their phone. She took the 7:46  back home. The train rumbled, and she repeated the number of stops it was to get back home. _1, 2, 3, 4._

 

_1._

 

She could hardly breathe. Panic consumed her, but she tried to hold herself together in front of the people sitting around. Tears formed in her eyes, and she pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger. She read somewhere once that that could help.

 

_2._

 

The pinching got harder and harder until she almost couldn’t feel it anymore. She never once thought that she’d manage to let everyone down all at once. Violet would be disappointed and angry, she knew. Harry would probably just kick her out. She should be someone else’s problem anyway. He was never meant to be more than a big brother figure.

 

_3._

What if Harry thought she ran away? She probably shouldn’t even go home. Was that even home? If she just didn’t go back, she wouldn’t be such a burden to him, and to Violet, and to Evan, and even to her father. Maybe she should kill herself. She was obviously too incompetent to be alive anyway.

 

_4._

 

The train doors opened, and she sprinted out, trying to catch her breath. The tears flowed freely. She earned concerned and confused looks from the other people on the escalator, but she couldn’t pay attention to that. Sobs erupted from her as she pushed her way to the ticket gates.

 

Once she was above ground, she kept running. Her lungs ached, and her breathing was erratic.

 

Lightheadedness took over, forcing her to stop. It was pitch black. No one was walking by, so she gave up, kneeling pitifully in the middle of the pavement. She wasn’t sure how to get home.

 

She used her phone to get to the train station. She used it to get everywhere. Now she was all alone.

 

She remembered vaguely something that her mother used to say. _If you’re lost, stay put._

 

A car pulled up several minutes later. She squinted against the headlights and trembled. She began to sob again.

 

Harry came to save her.

 

    ~~

When Harry saw her, he was frantic. He asked if she was okay, where had she been, why didn’t she answer. Her hands trembled and it was hard for her to speak coherently.

 

“M-my ph-phone…dead,” she managed between sobs. “S-sorry, Haz.”

 

Harry had a lot of questions, and Clara had a lot of explaining to do. He knew now wasn’t the time. He attempted to pull her up, but her knees were too weak to stand.

 

He scooped her up off the ground, muttering comforting nothings to her. “You’re alright,” he said. “It’s okay.”

 

“I’m hungry,” she said in the car. Her voice was small, like she was afraid. Afraid of what?

 

“Okay.” Harry nodded. Clara drew her knees to her chest and began to tremble. “Are you cold?” There was no response. He reached to turn up the heat and Clara flinched. She actually _flinched._ Was Clara scared of him? That wasn’t possible.

 

“S-sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. D-don’t be mad. Please.” Her voice was muffled, her face buried in her knees.”

 

“I’m not mad,” he assured her. How could he be mad when she was so distraught? “I was really worried. I almost called the police.” There was silence from Clara. “Will you tell me what happened?”

 

“Wr-wrong stop.” she said, her voice still shaky. “M’sostupid.”

 

“You made your way back.”

 

“I couldn’t figure out how to get home from the train station. A-and I p-pan-panicked. A-a-an-and th-then I j-just sat th-therr-re.” She began to cry again.

 

Harry winced. He couldn’t stand the thought of her walking around at night _alone_. Her phone died, and she was lost? Something could have happened to her. Something much, much worse than what she described. Harry couldn’t even think of it. “I’ll, erm, make an appointment with your therapist. It’ll help to talk about it.”

 

~~

 

“Harry?” Clara said. Her voice was so small he almost didn’t hear it.

 

“Yes, love?” He shut his laptop and sat up against the pillows. “Everything alright?” He knew everything wasn’t alright.

 

“Can I sit?” she asked. She shrugged her shoulders so that they disappeared into the sleeves of her sweater.

 

Harry just nodded, and she crawled onto the bed. He put an arm around her as she nestled up against her, resting her head on his shoulder. Harry didn’t say anything.

 

Tears formed in Clara’s eyes once again and she choked out a sob. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” she said.

 

“Clarabara.” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I should have let you go. Really.”

 

“It’s not your fault. I was being awful to you. And I let everyone down like I always do.”

 

“No, no,” he said, stroking her hair. “Stop that.”

 

“It hurts so bad. Is it bad of I try not to think about her? It feels like there’s a hole in my chest.”

 

Harry began to fall apart. He had spent two years trying to be strong for Clara. He didn’t want to let in any of the bad thoughts. He didn’t want to think about Jeanie either. There was a hole in his chest too. He cried, holding Clara close to him. He needed her now. She was his tether to reality. It had felt so empty to live selfishly for so long. He took Jeanie’s death almost as hard as Clara did; she was his second mother.

 

But whenever he felt like giving up, there was Clara there to keep him grounded. He needed to make sure she was okay first, and he was grateful for that. He let out out a shaky sigh. “We can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, love.” he said. “Do you want to talk about her?” Harry asked, wiping his eyes.

 

Clara whimpered and said, “She was mad.”

 

Harry laughed. “She was, yeah. She was also caring, and sweet, and stubborn.”

 

“Too stubborn,” Clara smiled a bit. “And couldn’t decide on anything. I remember one time we were getting a new roof on the house and it took her two weeks to decide what _color_ she wanted it to be.” Her smile faded quickly.

 

“Sounds like her. D’you wanna know something, Clara?”

 

“What?” she mumbled.

 

“She couldn’t decide what to name you, so she let me do it.” He grinned.

 

“No, she didn’t.” Clara said, scoffing.

 

“Well, I came up with your middle name,” he conceded.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yep. Clara Josephine.” Harry smiled at the memory.

 

“She really couldn’t decide?” Clara’s sobs subsided for a few moments.

 

“She couldn’t!” Harry squeezed her shoulders. “She said to me ‘Well, I can’t think of a good middle name, Harry. I suppose she’ll just be Clara Engelmann.’” He laughed to himself. “I said, “‘No, Aunt Jeanie, she has to have one! How about Josephine?’’

“I’m glad my name was entrusted to a ten-year-old.”

 

“I was nine,” he said, placing a kiss atop her forehead.

 

“C-can I sleep here tonight?” she whispered. “I know I sound like a baby.”

 

“No, no. It’s okay, my love,” he assured her.

 

“I’ll try to be better. I’ll get better.” she said. Clara was tired of feeling like this. She wanted everything to be normal again. She wanted to be able to be nice to herself. She wanted desperately for the pain to subside. Her mother’s absence haunted her every day, Jeanie was the dull ache in her bones, the pins in her heart, and the exhaustion in her eyes. The thought made her scratch at her arm.

 

Harry grabbed her hand and held it to get her to stop. “You have to let yourself feel it. That’s the only way you can let it go.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I would just like to say thank you to obsessedwithgayboybanders for all your comments! They make my day. Thank you so so much to everyone else who has left me a comment here because I read them all. If you want to discuss the story more with me you can message me on twitter [@WeShouldOpenUp](http://twitter.com/WeShouldOpenUp?lang=en), or on Wattpad [@therosepose](http://www.wattpad.com/user/therosepose). Please read the end of the chapter notes for some important stuff.

_Clara often wondered why things that looked pretty and enticing were bad for her. She wasn’t allowed to have cookies because they were bad for her. She wasn’t allowed to stay up late because it was bad for her. No one ever told her why or how. That puzzled her more than the apparent dangers of whatever she was being scolded about. Adults just assumed that she wouldn’t understand, and that frustrated her to no end._

 

_One day, Clara found a beautiful puddle on the ground. It was different from the puddles she’d seen before; it had a rainbow in it. Naturally, she went toward it eagerly, sticking her hands in to inspect it. It smelled odd, and it made her feel a bit lightheaded. She wondered for a moment if it was magic, like she’d seen on the telly, but Harry told her magic wasn’t real. She didn’t resent him for it, but she did point out the irony in his statement since he and Harry Potter shared a name. That made him laugh. She loved making Harry laugh. That’s why she ran over to him, arms outstretched, and yelled, “Harry! Harry! My hands are rainbow!" He didn’t laugh._

 

_“Clara!” he screamed, running over to her. Clara reckoned he looked like one of the people who got scared in films right before the monster came out. She frowned. Did she look like a monster? He scooped her up like she was a baby, even though he knew she hated it. He didn’t seem to want to touch her rainbow hands. She glanced down at them and realized they weren’t rainbow at all. Maybe that’s why Harry was so upset._

 

_“What’s wrong?” she pouted._

 

_“That wasn’t a rainbow, Clarabara. It’s very bad for you.”_

 

 _Clara rolled her eyes. Of course it was bad for her just like everything else was. “But it_ is _a rainbow,” she protested. “I saw it!” She fidgeted. “The rainbow doesn’t feel very good,” she said, attempting to wipe her hands off. “”Is it okay?” she asked, now a bit worried._

 

_“Everything’s okay,” he assured her._

 

_She knew it was show-offy to think like this, but she was pretty sure she knew a lot more than adults did. Obviously Mummy knew how to get her hair into those perfect plaits, and Harry knew how to make the batter turn into muffins in the oven. Those were definitely grown-up things. But there were a lot of other “grown-up” things that everyone else seemed to make harder than they were, like talking to people. She supposed people were always preoccupied with feelings and not wanting to hurt others. Wouldn’t it also hurt them not to tell them the truth? Mummy said lying was bad, so Clara tried not to do it. That didn’t keep her from wondering why everyone else did it so much._

 

 _She assumed Harry was telling a lie when he said it was okay, because he looked like he was scared of the monster under the bed. Everything is_ not _okay if there’s a monster under the bed. She began to whimper as her hands burned. She figured it was the rainbow irritating them. Clara looked down and realized the rainbow had disappeared._

 

_Harry had run her hands under the faucet before sticking her in the bath. “I never take baths with my clothes on!” she protested, turning her nose up at the way the soggy fabric of her undershirt stuck to her._

 

_Harry sighed and said, “Well, it, erm...saves time. Washes you and your clothes all at once.”_

 

_Clara sensed another lie, but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she asked, “Why did you look scared?”_

 

_“The puddle was petrol, and it’s bad for you.”_

 

_“Why?” Clara implored, whining. No one ever told her anything. She was five years old. She could understand more than people gave her credit for._

 

_“It’s what makes cars go,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub. “It’s bad to breathe it in your lungs because it gives off a gas that’s different from oxygen, which is what you’re supposed to breathe. It’s bad for your skin and it hurts your insides if you swallow it.”_

 

_Clara huffed. Of course she didn’t swallow it. It wasn’t food, and she wasn’t stupid. But how was she supposed to know what a petrol was? “So that’s why I need the bath?” she asked. Harry nodded. “And that’s why my clothes need the bath?”_

 

_“Sure.” he said._

 

_“Harry?” she asked again._

 

_“Do you know why my daddy moved away? All Mummy would tell me is that he loves me very much.” This frustrated Clara. She was often given answers that didn’t answer her question._

 

_“Well,” Harry said, hesitating. How much of it should he tell her? Would she even understand the concept of divorce? Maybe she’d just forget it anyway. “Sometimes, er, mummies and, erm, daddies, they decide that they don’t want to be together anymore. So then one moves away.”_

 

_“Why would Daddy move away if he loves Mummy?” Clara asked incredulously._

 

_Harry really wanted the conversation to end. Babysitting Clara was fun, but sometimes she asked way too many questions. He supposed it was admirable that she was so inquisitive at such a young age, but that didn’t make it any less annoying and uncomfortable. He grabbed the pitcher and filled it up in the tub. “Well, you see…” he began, before pouring the water on Clara’s head, laughing to himself._

 

_When she had blinked the water from her eyes, she yelled, “Not funny!”_

 

_“I disagree.” he smirked, and splashed some more water onto Clara._

 

 _“You….you...._ stupidhead _!_ ” _Clara shrieked, saying the worst word she could think of. Everyone always said that “stupid” was a naughty word._

 

 _Harry feigned offense and put on a face that was mock-serious. “_ Clara Josephine _! How could you say such a word?” He smiled and splashed her again._

 

_Clara fought back this time, splashing water onto his shirt and into his curls. At least a third of the tub’s water had made its way to the floor by then. “Oi, my mum’s gonna make me clean this up!” he said to her._

 

_“Good.”_

 

_“Good?” he raised his eyes. “I saved you, and that’s all you have to say?” She nodded. “You little....” he tickled her stomach and she cried out for him to stop._

 

_“S-stop!”_

 

_“Am I the bestest friend ever?” he asked her, enjoying every second of her squirming._

 

_“YES!” she screamed, and Harry took his hands away._

 

_“That’s all you had to say, Clarabara.”_

 

_~~_

 

_“Happy Easter, Harry.” Clara said. “I brought you an egg, but if you don’t eat it then I will.” She looked down at the ground, and Harry frowned down at her._

 

_“What’s wrong, Clarabara?” he kneeled so he could be level with her face._

 

_“You’re always gone for so long, a-and I-I’ve missed you and now you’re going away again a-and I don’t really like Evan s-so you sh-should stay here, please. And eat that egg because Mummy gave me two pounds and so I bought it for you at the store and also I got you a birthday present because you weren’t here on February first.” She paused, and Harry blinked._

 

_Did she really miss him that much? He’d missed her too, but he assumed children were mostly oblivious. “I’m sorry I have to go away so much, love. It’s my job, though, and it makes me really happy.” He took the egg from her. “Thank you.”_

 

_“I got you a present,” she repeated. “Can I show it to you?” Harry nodded and let Clara lead him by the hand to the sofa. There, she picked up a small box and handed it to him. “It was my idea,” she beamed._

_Harry smiled and opened the box to reveal a silver cross. He took it from its casing and held it by the chain for a moment, taking it in. “It’s beautiful,” he said._

 

_“There’s a message on it,” she said, eager for him to see it. He turned it over and smiled._

 

**_HC Col 3:14_ **

 

_“It says ‘HC’ because that’s you and me. And the verse is Colossians 3:14 and that says, ‘Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity.’ I think that’s lovely. Do you like it?”_

 

_Harry froze. He was in awe. How had she managed to grow up so much in his absence? He felt bad for missing it. She’d gotten taller, her hair had been cropped to her ears, and she was wearing a dress even though he knew she didn’t like them much. At least, not before. She was just ten. At ten she’d managed to give him one of the most meaningful gifts he’d ever received. And she loved him even when he was gone. “I love it. It’s beautiful.” He hugged her tight._

 

_“I know you have another one…” she said into his shoulder._

 

_“This one is special.” he whispered._

 

_Harry hadn’t been to Easter dinner in two years. He hadn’t been to church in at least that long either. Harry didn’t think it was necessary to partake in rituals like that to remain spiritual, but he was glad to be here. He smiled to himself as his mother spoke up. “Harry, Jeanie’s been telling me how much Clara listens to your music.”_

 

 _“Not_ that _much,” Clara protested._

 

_Harry smirked. “So you like it then.”_

 

 _Clara turned her head to look at him. “It’s_ okay. _”_

 

_Harry raised his eyebrows at her. He was sure she had some kind of opinion and he wanted to hear it. “Just okay?” he cut into his food and pretended to be offended._

 

_“Well, I like hearing you sing.” she said. “But the songs sound, erm, for-form…” she let out a sigh of frustration as she tried to remember the word she read._

 

_“Formulaic?” Harry offered, letting out a laugh. She looked so adorable._

 

_“Yes,” she huffed. “What you said. I’m sorry, Haz, but they’re all radio songs.”_

_“And what’s wrong with that?”_

 

 _“It means that they all_ sound _the same.” she asserted, stabbing into her lamb. The table was quiet for a moment as they all ate._

 

_“I disagree,” Harry finally said, shrugging. Clara kicked him under the table and he grinned. “Petrol Hands,” he muttered._

 

_“What did you say?!” she exclaimed._

 

_“You heard me.”_

 

_“Mum, he called me Petrol Hands!”_

 

_Jeanie smirked and looked to Anne, who was laughing to herself. “If the shoe fits, darling.” she said softly._

 

_“But that was five years ago!”_

 

_“You were being mean!” Harry said._

 

_“You were being rather mean, darling.” Anne agreed, holding back a smile._

 

_“It’s just my opinion.” she crossed her arms._

 

_“Do you know what I think, Clarabara? I think you really like Four. I think you listen to it every night before you go to bed. I think you know all the words to every song.”_

 

_“I do not! Why is it even called Four, anyway? Did you run out of names?”_

 

_“Oi! You’re just jealous.” he taunted her._

 

_Clara scrunched up her nose and looked down. Of course she was jealous. Why wouldn’t she be? Harry got to go to every country and he didn’t even have to go to school and girls liked him. He was so cool and she was stuck at home. “Well, when I grow I up you’ll be jealous of me too,” she huffed, even though she didn’t think it was true._

 

_Harry smiled and bent over to kiss her on the head._

 

_~~_

 

Harry twisted his cross between his thumb and forefinger. He hoped he didn’t look nervous. He wanted to look assertive, even though it was hard not to worry. Even at the age of twenty-four, waiting to be called into the headmaster’s office was sort of scary. It was like he was back in school again. A woman peeked out of the room and beckoned for him to come inside. “Mr. Styles?” she said.

 

Her office looked orderly, and the wood paneling on the walls made it feel warm. Her desk was adorned with a **Headmistress Bingham** placard. She motioned for him to sit, and he felt as if he were about to be scolded. He still didn’t know what the meeting was about. “Mr. Styles,” the headmistress said, “We need to have a dialogue about Clara’s academic performance. And her attendance. Are you aware that she has been absent six times already? It’s the middle of October. Her teachers say she isn’t focusing in class, or completing homework assignments. She’s got C’s and B’s right now, and her teachers insist she can do better.”

 

Harry frowned. He knew she must have been struggling a little, but not to this extent. Getting C’s wasn’t like her at all. “She’s been going through a lot. She’s grieving her mother and dealing with depression.” he said, a bit defensive. He somehow felt she was insinuating that Clara wasn’t trying hard enough.

 

“I understand,” the headmistress said. “I know how hard that can be, Mr. Styles, trust me.” her smile faltered. “We admitted Clara again this year because despite the year she was homeschooled, she did exceptionally well on the entrance exams. I know that must have required diligence, _discipline_. I believe she can do well here. We have tutors available for support, but I suggest getting one at home as well.”

 

Harry sat there, taking in the information. “She’s trying. She really is.” he said.

 

“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Styles.” He resisted the urge to ask to her call him Harry.

 

“She’s so resilient, Mrs. Bingham. Truly. She’s really hurting, but she still does her best to study every night, she’s going to therapy. What she needs is patience.”

 

“We are prepared to offer as much of it as we can.”

 

Harry nodded. He wondered if that would be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I tried something new and made most of the chapter flashbacks. Let me know if you liked/hated it aha. Anyway I've been thinking that my timeline for the story is a little wonky so I'm going to just clarify it here. Clara's mom got sick in August 2016 and Clara moved in with Harry in November 2016 where she was enrolled at the school she goes to now and where she met Violet. She spent the 2017-18 school year on tour with Harry where she had a private tutor. Clara's mom died in March 2018 and the story is taking place in October 2018, so it has been about 7 months since she died. This means Clara has been with Harry for almost two years at this point in the story. This is the official timeline, and I've already gone back to fix little discrepancies in the story. :) Anyway if you want to follow/message me/be my friend etc. you can do so on Twitter [@WeShouldOpenUp](http://twitter.com/WeShouldOpenUp?lang=en) or on Wattpad [@therosepose](http://www.wattpad.com/user/therosepose)  
> Thank you so much for reading sixteen chapters of this! More to come!


	17. Chapter 17

“Harry?” came a voice. It was Jeff. Harry closed his notebook.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I just wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine.” Harry frowned as he looked at the man behind Jeff. He was familiar, but Harry couldn’t place him. He gave the man a warm smile. “He’s a songwriter and an audio technician. I was thinking he could help with the album.”

 

Harry perked up. He was excited to have a fresh set of eyes. Ever since they finished _Tired Eyes,_ the whole team had been in a slump. He was grateful for the opportunity to get things moving again. He hadn’t been in the right mindset to write ever since the night he found Clara alone. He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Harry.”

 

“I’m Eliot.” the dark-haired man replied. Harry frowned.

 

“Eliot…” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Have...have we met before?”

 

Eliot smirked. “Erm...yes. I had to get my shirt dry-cleaned if I recall.” Harry laughed, but came out breathy and half-hearted.

 

“Ohhh...so you two know each other, then?” Jeff said, sensing some sort of tension in the room. “Well...I’ll just leave you to, uh, catch up…” Harry frowned when Jeff left the room, his eyes stuck in soft focus for a few moments.

 

Harry broke out of it when Eliot cleared his throat and said, “So, Jeff said there’s this song you want to write?”

 

Harry stared at Eliot. He was lean, not overly muscular. His eyes were dark brown and his skin was tan against his jet-black hair. Upon further observation, Harry realized that Eliot had freckles splotched across the bridge of his nose and around his cheeks. He was so beautiful that Harry almost sighed in appreciation, but then he remembered he’d been asked a question. “Y-ye..yes. I’m sorry about your shirt.” Harry managed to say.

 

“Quite alright,” Eliot said, laughing.

 

“Erm, anyway…” Harry began, attempting to gather his thoughts. He usually wasn’t so flustered around new people. “The, uh, song is sort of about love. It’s meant to be about when two people, erm, they’re just too...too different.” Eliot listened intently, and Harry blushed as he fumbled for the journal on the table.

 

“I, erm, wrote a few things,” he said, handing the book to Eliot. “L-last...last page.” Harry said, cursing himself for his inability to speak. He was usually calm during meetings such as these, but now he felt almost embarrassed. What would Eliot think of the song, and by extension, him?

 

“There’s not much there,” Harry continued, feeling the need to apologize.

 

“But there is,” Eliot said, smiling. “There’s a like, central idea, right?. And you’ve got a chorus,” he pointed out. “Do you know how it goes?”

 

“Erm, yeah.”

 

“Can you sing it for me?”

 

“Th-the, uh, chorus?”

 

“No, the bridge.”

 

Harry was confused. “I don’t--”

 

“Sing the chorus, please!” Eliot interjected, laughing.

 

“Right, erm…” Harry paused. “ _Now you’re in front of me, offering things that I should want, and I’m starting to think that we are just a lost cause._ ”

 

Eliot’s eyes lit up. “I like that, Harry. That’s really, really nice. Now, let’s find the rest of it.”

~~

“So how have you been?”

 

“Bad.” Clara said simply. There was no other word to describe it. Every day, Clara felt as if she were on the precipice of breaking.

 

 

“Bad? We’ve talked about being specific before haven’t we?”

 

Clara groaned. “What’s the point of that? It just makes me feel shitty.”

 

The woman stared back at her, eyebrows slightly raised. “‘Bad’ and ‘shitty’ don’t give me much to go off of, Clara.”

 

“I’m just frustrated, okay? I’m supposed to be getting better but I’m not.”

 

The therapist sighed. “Clara, you know this is a difficult process.”

 

“I don’t care! I just want to get better!”

 

“How about you tell me why you think you need to get better so quickly?” Edie crossed her legs and leaned forward.

 

“I’ve _been_ telling you. It’s Harry.”

 

Edie frowned. “Is Harry pressuring you to get better?”

 

“ _No.”_

 

“You just feel you’re burdening him.” she concluded. Clara nodded. “It’s obvious how much he loves you. He took you in when your mother got sick. He was aware of the pain you’d be in, but he took you in and cared for you because he wants to help you.”

 

“I know that. Objectively.”

 

“Subjectively?”

 

“I know it’s affecting him. The way that I am. And he needs to get away from me because I’m horrible.”

 

Edie shook her head. “Him wanting time to himself doesn’t mean he wants to be rid of you. He’s your guardian. It’s his job to worry about you. And you’re not the only one grieving.”

 

“It’s just...I feel like he’s my only friend. So I don’t want to lose him.”

 

“What about your girlfriend?”

 

Clara scoffed. “Violet? She’s not my girlfriend, not my friend.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“She got really scared and angry at me on the day I got lost. ‘Cause she waited for me for so long and I didn’t come.”

 

“Does she know what happened?”

 

“I tried explaining and saying I’m sorry. Harry called her and told her what happened after he found me, but she still won’t talk to me. I guess I can’t blame her.” Clara wouldn’t have wanted to be friends with herself either.

 

“That’s not the right way to handle the situation. I’m sorry, Clara. Maybe she just needs time to process the situation. It was scary for her, not knowing if you were okay. I’m not saying what she’s doing is okay.”

 

Clara was used to losing friends. She’d lost them when she moved, and even before then she’d lose them when they lost interest in her. She’d never been good at talking to people or starting conversations, so her friends were usually just as awkward as she was if she even had them at all. Violet was different, though. She was vibrant, outgoing, and everything Clara wasn’t. She was the person who said hello first when they met. Now she didn’t even have the courtesy to say goodbye. Clara had come to expect this kind of unreliability from others, and it caused more frustration than disappointment.

 

What Violet was doing wasn’t a big deal to Clara. When her mother died, she broke apart in jagged pieces, like a mug that couldn’t be glued back together. There wasn’t much more damage to be done.

 

“Thought therapy was supposed to make you feel _better_.” Clara slumped down into her chair.

 

“Maybe you should talk to her at school.”

 

“Maybe.” Clara echoed, even though the prospect terrified her.

~~

“Why are you smiling like that?” Clara asked. Harry bit his lip and covered the saucepan, refusing to turn back around.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like you’re thinking about something nice,” Clara said softly.

 

“Something nice?”

 

Clara sighed. “If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“So how was your day?”

 

“Mmm how was _yours_ , Clarabara?” He walked over to the breakfast bar, squeezing her shoulders. “You doing alright?” He was worried about her, and he didn’t feel like talking about some guy he’d met twice. That wasn’t of any importance to her.

 

“I don’t understand what’s happening at school,” she said. “And Violet still won’t talk to me.”

 

“Maybe she has a good reason, love.”

 

“Yeah, me.”

 

Harry frowned. He liked to imagine that she’d gotten a lot better with time, but when she said things like that or acted impulsively like she did that Sunday, he was brought back to the reality that she was a different Clara than the one he knew two years ago. He knew she’d never be the same. Hell, he’d never be the same either, but he wasn’t still a child.

 

“Clara,” he said, spinning her stool around. He knelt on the floor, so she was looking down at him. How could he make her understand? “The night you got lost, you said you wanted to get better. The first step, I think, is not saying things like that. You just can’t put yourself down anymore. It’s not good for you.”

 

She averted her eyes because his eyes were too painful to look at. They were pleading. “It’s not that easy.”

 

“It’s not going to be,” he said, hoping for her too look at him again. “But it’s for the best.”

 

Clara turned back to him and pinched the skin next to her thumb. She didn’t want to cry. _It’s for the best, Clarabara._ He used to say that all the time. Things were so different now. She nodded.

 

They stayed like that for a few moments.

 

“You really don’t understand anything at school?”

 

“Well, I might have been exaggerating. But it’s really hard and I don’t know why I can’t get some things. I’ve got no clue how to factor a polynomial.”

 

“I don’t know what you just said.”

 

“Exactly! Everything sucks.”

 

“How about we go out somewhere after dinner, hm?” Harry said, standing to go to the stove.

 

“Where?”

 

“Anywhere.”

 

“I don’t know. You pick somewhere.”

 

“Okay.”

~~

“It’s really pretty,” Clara said, shrinking into her jacket against the night air. She thought it would be nice to have a good memory of London at night.

 

“I used to walk along the Thames almost every night when I first moved here.”

 

“You didn’t go out partying every night?” Clara asked, looking across the water at the Eye.

 

“I tried doing that. It made me feel empty. There’s no meaning in it. When I started doing this, I felt like myself. I could just _think_ without being overwhelmed.” Clara didn’t respond. “What are you thinking?”

 

What was she thinking? She was thinking that she wished she could be Harry instead of herself. She was thinking about how she was almost as old as he’d been when he became successful, and how she had no prospects for the future. She was thinking about her mediocrity in school. She was thinking about her inability to talk to others and how it would hinder her later in life. She was thinking about how Harry’s mum was alive and hers wasn’t. “Everything. And none of it’s good.”

 

Harry grabbed her hand. It pained him to think that there were still things she didn’t want to share with him. They used to tell each other everything. Everything. Maybe she was starting to think of him as more of a parental figure, but he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted anymore. They’d always been best friends, even when he was halfway around the world. “Secret Time?”

 

Clara looked at him incredulously. “What?” They hadn’t done that in forever.

 

“Please?”

 

Clara bit her lip. “Rules say asker goes first. It has to be one no one else knows, okay?” Harry nodded.

 

Harry sighed. He’d have to tell her a bad one. “When Robin died, my mum called me. Three times. And I didn’t answer because I thought she was just, you know, excited about something. I’d just sent her a gift in the post—this bag I’d gotten when I was traveling...” he paused for a moment, his voice breaking. “I was busy in the studio, but it’s not like…I mean, I could have just stepped out. When she called me the fourth time…I don’t know why, but I was…I was annoyed. I should’ve been worried. I should’ve been. When I answered the phone, I said, ‘What, Mum?’ No hello, how are you, are you okay…none of that. And there was silence for a really long time. Then she told me, and my knees just gave out and I was on the floor.”

 

“I’m sorry, Harry. You didn’t mean it. It’s okay.” She squeezed his hand.

 

He let out a shaky sigh before saying, “Your turn.”

 

“Sometimes, erm…sometimes you make me feel bad about myself.”

 

Harry stopped walking. “What?”

 

“I just look at you and you’re the person that everyone wants to be. You’re like the handsomest guy in the world depending on which magazine you buy, and you’re so _kind_ and gentle a-and there’s nothing you can’t do and I just think that I’ll never ever be like that.”

 

Harry felt his eyes fill with tears, and the world in front of him became blurry. “Clara, it’s me. I’m still the kid you grew up with. I’m not better than you. I’m not. Clara, we’re bestest buds, okay?”

 

“You’ve always been better than me.” she said softly.

 

“Clara, I’m not.”

 

“Yes, you are! You are, you are, you are!” Harry tried to hug her, but she resisted, struggling to get free. He wouldn’t let her.

 

They stayed like that long after she’d relaxed into him.

 

Harry didn’t know what to think or how to feel. He made her feel bad about herself? How could that be? She was so much smarter than him, and he knew that. She was passionate and expressive. She would fill entire notebooks with songs and stories and poems. Her mind was restless and unrelenting in its production of thought after thought, idea after idea. He envied _her_.

 

He hoped that one day she would value herself as much as he valued her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@WeShouldOpenUp](http://twitter.com/WeShouldOpenUp?lang=en)  
> Wattpad: [@therosepose](http://www.wattpad.com/user/therosepose)


	18. Chapter 18

 

“Harry, come home.” Anne said. There was a longing in her voice. “I miss you.”

 

“I miss you too, Mum.” he said. He thought it would be nice to see her. It had always brought him peace to sleep in his own room at home. But Clara wouldn’t be able to enjoy those same comforts. He didn’t know how she’d react to going back, and he certainly wasn’t going to go without her. “I don’t know if it’s best for Clara.”

 

“Nonsense, it’ll be great for her.” Anne said resolutely, and Harry knew that no matter what he said that he would be swayed. “I want to see her too.”

 

Harry shook his head. “It’ll be different for her, Mum. I’ve got you to go back to. I’ve got my home. The...the house is on the market, isn’t it?”

 

“It hasn’t been sold yet,” Anne said solemnly, “but it’s all emptied from the estate sale.”

 

“I just…” Harry began.

 

“She won’t get any better going on like this, my love.” Harry knew she was right. She usually was. “She’s got to face it like we’ve all had to. How do you think I feel, knowing that bloody house is empty? I need you two to come home, Harry.”

 

He paused. “Sometimes I think that you should have taken her, not me. You’d be better at it. I know it’s what Jeanie wanted…”

 

There was a pause on the other end. Anne sighed. “Oh, my son...Did you know we spoke about this?”

 

“What?” Harry shook his head in confusion.

 

“When she got ill, she talked to me about what would happen to Clara if she...didn’t recover. Naturally, I said I’d care for her. But we discussed it more...and, well, you kept coming up. ‘She’d be happiest if she was with him,’ is what she’d say. And I knew it was true. She adores you, and you’re so gentle with her. And she’d never open up to me the way she does with you, love. I know it’s difficult. She knew it’d be hard, and so did I...but I prayed on it. We both did. I really think she’s what you needed to keep you grounded. I’m really so proud of the man you’ve become, my son. Truly.”

 

He had no idea that they’d talked so much about it. “You’re...you’re right, Mum. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

 

“Together, you’ll make each other strong. I know it. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~

 

Clara walked up to Violet’s desk and stood there, waiting for her to look up. When she didn’t, Clara said, “I’m sure that you’re not that entranced by Hemingway.”

 

Violet looked up. Her eyes widened, a frown formed, and before Clara knew it, she’d returned her attention back to _The Old Man And The Sea._ “You’re being such a jerk. Pulling the same shit again only this time you’re not in Scotland, you’re right in front of me.”

 

Slowly, Violet out the book face down on the desk. Her face looked uncertain, as if she was trying to be as inscrutable and indifferent as possible. “What?” Violet said simply.

 

“It’s been a month.” Violet shrugged. “It’s been a month,” Clara repeated, “and you’re still mad at me. I wasn’t trying to stand you up, Violet. I missed the stop. Then I had a panic attack and I got back and it was dark and I didn’t have my phone and if Harry hadn’t found me …”

 

“ _What_?” Violet said again, but this time she was worried. “Harry just said he picked you up and you were fine.”

 

Clara shook her head in confusion. “But I texted you.”

 

“I...didn’t read them.”   

 

“You...didn’t _read them?”_ Clara said, backing away a little. Of course she hadn’t read them. Why would she? Violet didn’t even like her anyway. She never had.

 

Violet closed her book and stood up. “Clara, I’m sorry. I just felt like an idiot standing there and you never came. And you _promised_ and then…”

 

“How do you think I felt?” Clara stared past Violet at the wall. “A _month_ ,” she muttered.

 

“Clara, I’m sorry I just…”

 

“You just ignored me? Forget it.” Clara said, walking away. Class was about to begin and she didn’t need to think about Violet anymore.

 

~~

 

“How was school?” Harry asked, wrapping Clara in his arms. She’d just come in, dropping her bag on the floor. She’d leaned against him, asking for comfort without words.

 

“What do you think?” she said into his chest.

 

“Well, I was thinking it might be nice to go home.”

 

“What do you mean?” Clara asked. She pulled her head back to look up at him.

 

“Like...to Holmes Chapel.” he said, rubbing slow circles into her back.

 

“Oh. When?”

 

“Er...now? I thought we’d go for the weekend. Might be nice to have a change of scenery?”

 

Clara pulled away, thinking. She supposed it would be nice to see her Auntie Anne. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“I’ll have Mum make your favorite.” he smiled.

 

Her eyes lit up a little at the thought. “Lasagna?”

 

Harry laughed a little. “Of course, what else?”

 

Clara moved to go upstairs, then paused. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t say it enough, but she felt it all the time.

  
~~

In the car, Clara had fallen asleep, and Harry looked over at her occasionally, taking in her features. She only ever looked at peace when she resting. She resembled her mother in an uncanny way. She had the same olive skin, same wild, black hair. The way she carried herself, even, was reminiscent of a woman whose existence had left a vivid imprint in his heart. It brought him comfort to think that Jeanie would never really be gone.

 

_The weather seemed to match everyone’s insides. Rain pattered against everyone, salt and freshwater mingling on the faces of the churchgoers. Harry looked for Clara and found her at the bottom of the hill, watching the procession with a vacant stare. He ran after her._

 

_“I can’t do it,” she whispered. Almost as a response, the droplets began to fall with a greater velocity; Clara’s heartbeat was even faster._

 

_Harry was quick to cover her with an umbrella. “Don’t want you catching a cold,” he muttered. He’d almost used the expression “catch your death,” quickly deciding against it. Clara looked up at him, then back at the ground, watching the dirt turn to mud._

 

_“Clara,” Harry said softly, for she was a helpless creature he didn’t want to startle. “You’ve got to come say goodbye.”_

 

_“No!” she protested. “I don’t want to.”_

 

 _“You’ve got to,” he pleaded._ Before they put her in the ground, _he thought, a grim feeling overwhelming him._

 

_“That’s not her. She’s not there. She’s in the sky, Harry.”_

 

_He nodded. “I know.”_

 

~~

 

When Clara awoke, she realized that she was not in the car. Her shoes were off, and she’d been tucked into a bed. It was her bed, the one she’d slept in every time she visited Anne, Harry, and Gemma. She stretched herself out and rolled onto her side. There was a note on the nightstand.

 

_Didn’t want to wake you. I’ve gone out for a bit to run errands. Mum will give you your medicine. Call me if you need anything. Have a good time._

 

_Love_

_H_

 

Clara smiled and yawned, pulling the covers off of herself and settling her feet on the hardwood. She heard sounds from the kitchen and realized she hadn’t seen Anne yet. She hurried down the stairs to see the dark haired woman at work behind the stove.

 

“Anne.” Clara said, a bit breathlessly. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, not since before Clara got worse.

 

The woman turned her head and a smiled encompassed her. Her face seemed to return a million memories of contentment to Clara’s head. She almost cried, standing there in the kitchen. “Clara, darling! Come here.” she held her arms out, and Clara went to her, accepting the embrace. “Oh, I missed you, my love.”

 

“I missed you too.” Clara said, her voice breaking. Tears threatened again, and this time she didn’t try to stop them. A sob escaped her.

 

“Oh, it’s alright, dear.” Anne said. “You’re alright.” Her hugs were gentler than Harry’s, had a more delicate touch. This one reminded her of her mother.

 

She pulled away. “S-sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologise. We all get like that now and then,” she said, smoothing her apron down. “Dinner’ll be ready soon, but we’ll wait until Harry gets back, eh?”

 

“Okay,” Clara nodded. “I think I’ll go on a walk. To the park.” She used to always hang out by the swings there. It never failed to clear her head and keep her calm. Clara wiped her eyes.

 

“Alright, be careful though. Oh! I was supposed to bring you your--”

 

“It’s okay,” Clara said with a smile. “I already took them.” It was just a white lie. She intended to take them...later.

 

~~

 

The wind bit against Clara, and she shrugged her hands up into her sleeves. She’d forgotten that she had to walk past her house on the way. Instead of passing it, she stopped. There was a big, red **FOR SALE** sign hammered into the yard where Evan had taught her how to ride a bike. At this time of year, every window in the house would’ve had one of those battery candles in it. Now there was nothing, not even drapes. The entire place looked ominous, and something intangible was telling her to stay away.

 

She walked up the front steps as she’d done countless times before. The door was open, and she got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she opened it with a creak. The staircase beckoned her and she felt her feet propel herself forward. The walls and floor were coated with a thin layer of dust that was dispersed into the air as she ascended to the second floor.

 

The last streaks of day shone through the window in her bedroom. She didn’t realize that when her mother died, everything else would die along with her. Her bed and dolls and posters and books and childhood might as well have been buried in the same grave. She’d only taken a few things with her when she moved aside from her clothes. The rest of it she let go.

 

She sat on the floor and traced her name in the dust. _Clara Josephine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry the updates are becoming more sparse, but I'm a junior and on that kill myself grind. I really hope you're enjoying the story and I want to let you know that the reason I write it is because it honestly makes me feel better and I look forward to it. With other stories it's like "I have to write the next chapter" but with this one it's like "I want and need to write the next chapter." Sometimes I have to really think on where I want it to go next, so it takes me a bit to update. Other times it comes very quickly. I know how I want the story to end, and I think it will be about 30+ chapters. As always, thank you so much for reading this far and there is more to come. <3
> 
>  
> 
> Twitter: [@WeShouldOpenUp](http://twitter.com/WeShouldOpenUp?lang=en)  
> Wattpad: [@therosepose](http://www.wattpad.com/user/therosepose)


	19. Chapter 19

 

“Where’s Clara?” Harry asked, putting the bags on the table. He began sorting the items and putting them in their rightful places in the cupboard.

 

“Oh, thank you, dear. She said she went to the park.”

 

“Did you bring her her medicine?”’

 

“She said she already took it.”

 

Harry stilled. How would she have taken it when it was in his bag? He somehow doubted she went out of her way to find it. “I’m going to look for her.” he said. “It’s dark.”

 

“My love, I’m sure she’s fine.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” he said, lining the canned tomatoes up next to each other. “But I’m going to look for her.”

 

Anne turned to him. “You can’t worry about her like that. She grew up here just like you did. She’s not lost.”

 

“I know, but--”

 

“Harry.”

 

“I’m going.” he said. He pressed a kiss to Anne’s forehead. “Be back soon.”

 

Harry shrugged on his coat and went to the door. He made a point not to look back as he threw himself into the November air. He had a feeling she wasn’t at the park.

 

~~

Clara lay on the floor in her mother’s room next to where she’d carved her initials in the floor. The room used to smell of lilac, and now it reeked of sorrow and antiquity. She thought the house’s emptiness would give her a sense of finality. Maybe she could finally come to accept what was true. Instead, it filled her with an overwhelming sense of longing. She’d often thought that it felt like there was a hole in her heart; she knew it wasn’t possible. Wounds healed and the healthy flesh you once had got replaced with scar tissue. There was a tremendous amount of scar tissue in her heart.

 

She heard the door creak open downstairs and she sat up. Maybe it was a ghost, a demon, something coming to take her away. “Hello?” came a voice. It was Harry.

 

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Clara just let herself fall back onto the floor with a thud. She curled into the fetal position as the footsteps came closer; with each step, she hugged herself tighter, tighter, tighter, until, “Clara.”

 

Harry sat next to her. “Alright?” he asked.

 

“I guess,” she said. “I was hoping my house would be haunted.”

 

“Why?”

 

“More interesting.” Harry let out a little laugh, and Clara felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “Harry?”

 

“Hm?”

 

She sniffled. “I think I’m allergic to dust.”

 

“Let’s go, then.”

 

“Five more minutes.” Harry sighed and lay down next to her. “All gone,” she whispered.

 

“All gone,” he repeated.

 

“The new people won’t know that Mummy used to hold me during thunderstorms in here. Or that Evan fell off the bed and chipped his tooth in here. And once they come I’ll never see this room again. What if I forget?”

 

“You won’t forget.”

“Will you...will you take me to see her?” Clara asked.

 

Harry turned his head to look at her. Was she asking what he thought? She’d never been to Jeanie’s grave aside from the funeral. Clara always said she didn’t want to, that her mother wasn’t really there. He’d only been there twice himself. “Now?”

 

She nodded. “Now.”

 

~~

 

The way Clara clung to Harry’s arm reminded him of when she was little and afraid of new people. She would bury her face into his side, and he used to feel her trembling reverberate throughout his body.

 

She was shaking now too. “Cold?” She nodded, and he draped his coat over her. The light from the streetlamps didn’t do well to illuminate the cemetery before them. Harry switched on his phone light and led the way.

 

The walk up the hill seemed to take forever. All that could be heard was their shoes against the mud, and the sounds of their breath. They stilled at the top, and for a moment, it sounded as if the world had been muffled. Clara’s ears started to ring as Harry shone the light over the headstone.

 

**JEANETTE ROSE ENGELMANN**

 

**1968 - 2018**

 

**_Spirited Daughter, Loving Mother_ **

  


Clara dropped to her knees and traced her fingers over her mother’s name. She looked down at the roses carefully placed in a vase at the foot of the stone. “Yellow roses. Those were her favorite.”

 

“Mum tends to them.” Harry said, keeping his distance.

 

Clara took a deep breath, but she didn’t cry. She didn’t have it in her to cry anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for trying to ignore you.” She plopped onto the ground, sitting cross-legged. “Can you tell me a story about her?” She looked to Harry and hid herself further into his coat.

 

“One time, before you were born, our mums and Evan all went on a trip to London. We went to the zoo and I was afraid of the giraffes, so she grabbed my arm and stuck it out in front of one of them to lick. I started screaming, but then I was laughing because it tickled. And she told me, ‘Don’t be afraid of animals, little one, it’s the humans that’ll get you.’”

 

“She was so weird.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. But a good weird.”

 

“I don’t know why I’m not crying. I just feel…”  

 

“Empty?” Clara nodded. “That’s normal. It’s not good, but it’s normal.”

 

“Can we stay here for a while?”

 

“As long as you want, love.”

 

“You’re my favorite brother.” Clara said, drawing her knees to her chest.

 

He gave her a tender laugh. “Thank you.” She hadn’t been making much sense lately.

 

~~

“Do you know what?” Clara said, gripping the cold chains of the swing.

 

“What?” Harry asked, pushing himself around lazily.

 

“We talk about me too much.”

 

“Well…” Harry began. It was an accurate enough statement, but he wasn’t concerned with that; he just wanted to make sure that she felt comfortable expressing herself. He was secondary, not simply out of obligation, but because he felt like Clara was own child. He’d been there for her since she was born, and he would always want to protect her, whether he was obliged to by law or not.

 

“How are _you_ feeling?”

Harry swung back and forth slightly on the swing, pushing off the ground. “I’m feeling okay,” he said. The world was dark and silent except for the subtle squeak of the metal swing set. “Sad,” he added solemnly. “My Aunt Jeanie is gone, and my Clara is all mixed up.”

 

“Yeah,” Clara replied. “Mixed up” was putting it nicely. “But what about your life? You don’t talk much about it.”

 

“ _You’re_ my life, Clarabara.”

 

“Apart from me.”

 

Harry moved his seat side to side. “Erm...I’ve got a crush.”

 

Clara’s face brightened. “Boy or girl?”

 

“Boy.” He smirked.

 

“Does he like you back?”

 

“Think so, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“He sort of works with me now. On the album.”

 

Clara nudged him. “But that’s so romantic!”

 

He chuckled. “More like inconvenient.”

 

“So...what about Louis?”

 

“Erm...what about him? We’re not together.”

 

“Okay, but he came along to my birthday and you two had your own room.”

 

“It was...a special occasion.” He grimaced.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

“Only everything.”

 

“Can you stop being cryptic and just tell me?”

 

Harry let out a long sigh. “Sometimes when you’re with someone for that long...it just doesn’t work anymore.”

 

“How very adult of you to say.”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Well, what happened with you and Violet?”

 

“She...was acting like she didn’t know why I didn’t show up. And I said ‘forget it’ and walked away.”

 

“What happened before then?”

 

“The...train incident?” Clara looked over at him in confusion.

 

He shook his head. “Before that.”

 

“We hung out at school and she wanted to like...hold my hand and stuff.”

 

“But you didn’t.” he concluded.

 

“I didn’t want everyone to know. And then she…” Clara trailed off.

 

Harry cocked his head. “She…?”

 

“Kissed me,” Clara finished.

 

“Your first one?”

 

Clara nodded. “It wasn’t how I thought it would be.”

 

“It never is. Mine happened in the courtyard after school. She only talked to me a few times after that.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright. So are you. So am I.”

 

“I missed being home.” Clara said wistfully.

 

“Me too.” He paused. “Do you think you would’ve preferred to stay?”

 

“Stay here? No, I couldn’t. It’d hurt too much.” Not only would it have been painful to see places that made her think of her mother every day, she’d be forced to attend the very same school where she’d been bullied relentlessly. Ironically, they seemed to know she was gay before she did. Clara never told her mother about it. “But I’m glad I came back.”

 

Clara began to swing, pumping her legs back and forth to gain speed. Harry followed suit, and he got lost in the rush of cool air. A smile spread across his face as he said, “Bet I can jump farther.”

 

“Nooo,” she said. “I’m not good at that!”

 

“Chicken.” Harry said, heaving himself off the swing. He dusted himself off. “Come on, then!” he taunted her.

 

He watched as she found the courage to do the same, tumbling over into the mulch. She laughed, a real, carefree laugh.

 

Harry pulled her up off the ground and picked the wood chips out of her hair. “You’re okay, right?” he asked, chuckling.

 

“I’m great.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Dinner?” Eliot had said when they wrapped up another long session together. “I’d like to talk more about the song.” Harry had scoured his eyes for any clue that he wanted to talk about more than just the song, but he found only sincerity.

 

Now, Eliot sat at Harry’s breakfast bar, scribbling in his notebook. Harry had insisted that he come over instead of going to some restaurant; he just needed to pick Clara up from school first. It didn’t seem to bother Eliot.  “Erm, I was making curry for Clara and me tonight. Is that alright?” Harry said, turning on the stove. He became distracted by the blue flames for a moment before scrambling to get the chopped onions.

 

“This is not what I had in mind for a brainstorming session,” Eliot said on a laugh.

 

Harry stopped. “Sorry, I...You wanted to go to a restaurant…” He felt his heart sink a little. _Way to go, Harry._

 

Eliot frowned. “No, no, no I just meant...I didn’t think...never mind. It’s good, is what I meant.

 

Harry put on a smile and turned his back to Eliot to stir the browning onions. After an awkward pause, Harry said, “So, this one is especially difficult for me...I just have a hard time...articulating h-how I feel.”

 

“That’s what I’m here for.”

 

Harry nodded. “I just want it to be honest.”

 

Eliot looked down at his notebook and began to sing.

 

[ _It was meant for you_ ](https://vocaroo.com/i/s02esIBKG4eH)

[ _All the things I do_ ](https://vocaroo.com/i/s02esIBKG4eH)

[ _And when she cries, you’re in her eyes_ ](https://vocaroo.com/i/s02esIBKG4eH)

[ _But it was meant for you_ ](https://vocaroo.com/i/s02esIBKG4eH)

 

“That’s all we have,” Eliot said.

 

“It’s good?” Harry asked. He was beginning to get anxious, and he checked on the onions once more.

 

“Yeah, it’s good, but Jeff says it usually doesn’t take you this long. Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“What’s it about?”

 

Harry looked down at his bare feet on the floor, becoming uncomfortable. “I...erm, it’s about my aunt. She passed away this year.”

 

Eliot gave a solemn nod of understanding. “Harry...I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but are you sure you want to put this song on the album? When you go on tour, you’ll have to play it every night…”

 

Harry frowned. Eliot was right; it wasn’t really his place to say anything about it. He’d already come to the conclusion that playing the song every night would make him stronger, not wear him down. “I’ve thought about it,” he said, sounding sure of himself. He went to check on the pan. “It’s something I need to do.”

 

“You’re not like other artists I’ve worked with.”

 

“Is that good or bad?”

 

“Good. None of them have ever invited me for family dinner before.”

 

A grin spread across Harry’s face. No one ever called him and Clara a family, but Eliot acknowledged they were. “They’re missing out.”

 

“Ooh, smells good!” Eliot and Harry turned to Clara who stood in the kitchen entryway. She’d stopped at the sight of the dark-haired stranger. Harry had said that he was having someone over, but she didn’t expect him to look so striking.

 

“Clara, this is Eliot. We’re working together on some songs.”

 

Clara frowned a moment, then raised her eyebrows. “Ohhhh.” she said, giving Harry a knowing look. Harry shot her a glare.

 

Eliot looked between Clara and Harry for a moment before clearing his throat. “Very nice to meet you, Clara.” He extended his hand and Clara took it. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“I’ve heard a lot about you too.” Clara said, smirking mischievously. Eliot looked confused and turned to Harry, who just shrugged and let out a nervous laugh. “When’s dinner going to be ready?”

 

“Erm...hour or so.” Clara nodded and turned to leave. “Start on your homework.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” she said dismissively.

 

“I mean it!” Harry called after her. She was already almost at the stairs. Harry turned back to Eliot, who looked amused. “What?”

 

“She’s cool.”

 

“I know.” Harry shook his head, feigning disapproval.

 

~~

“Did you know that Harry is a chef?” Clara said, dipping her naan into the bowl.

 

“I did not.” Eliot said, smiling. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

 

“Tell me about yourself,” Clara said.

 

Harry sighed, beginning to rethink his decision. Eliot looked to him and he just gave a noncommittal shrug in response. “If you want.”

 

“Well, er...I’m from Cardiff. And...er...I used to put record players together?” he chuckled a little, dimples forming at his cheeks. Unknowingly, Harry leaned forward in his seat.

 

“That’s odd.” Harry smirked, looking at him dead on.

 

It took a moment for Eliot to respond. He swallowed, then said, “Yeah, my dad owned a record shop. We’d buy people’s old record players, fix ‘em up, and then he’d sell them again. And, well, that’s why I’m in the job I’m in now, I suppose. Just love music.”

 

“Well, if my record player breaks, it’s good to know you’re uniquely qualified.” Harry said. He tore his eyes away from Eliot and decided to focus his attention to Clara. “Love, how was school today?”

 

She deadpanned. “Do you want the detailed or the abridged version?”

 

Harry thought for a moment before answering, “Abridged.”

 

“Could have been worse.”

 

“That’s...something.”

There was a palpable silence as the three of them continued to eat. Clara could tell that  her presence was complicating the conversation. “Harry, I’m gonna go upstairs.” she said, preparing to leave.

 

Harry wanted to tell her that she was being rude, but at the same time didn’t feel comfortable doing so in front of Eliot. “Okay...are you feeling alright?”

 

“Yeah, just got a headache.” In her defense, it wasn’t a lie; the headache in question was just very mild.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. If this was just her plan to get out of eating dinner, he wasn’t going to tolerate it. “I’ll be up to check on you.” Harry watched her leave and turned to Eliot, who smiled. “What?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just obvious how much you love her.”

 

Harry looked at him a moment. “Tell me more about the record shop.”

 

“Don’t you want to talk about the song?”

 

“We’ve talked enough about it today.”

 

“It’s not that interesting. I worked there with my dad until he found me with a boy one day. And I lived with my aunt after that.”

 

“Sorry.” People could be so awful. Harry came out to his mother when he was fifteen, and all she did was hug him and tell him there were better things to worry about.

 

“It’s not sad.” Eliot assured him. “He got over it.”

 

Harry nodded. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

 

“Well, you’re my boss.” Eliot joked.

 

“And friend, I hope?” Harry asked, sipping his water.

 

“And friend.” Eliot smiled, and Harry looked into his eyes, finding it hard to look away. They stayed like that for a while.

~~

“Why did you really run off?” Harry asked. He leaned against Clara’s doorframe.

 

“You two were having a moment.”

 

“What?”

 

“You were like, ogling at him, Harry.”

 

“I was not.”

 

Clara scoffed. “You definitely were.”

 

Harry sighed. “What happened at school? Long version.” He sat at the foot of her bed.

 

“I talked to Violet.”

 

He tilted his head. “Okay…”

 

“Well, she talked to me mostly. And she said she was sorry for being a bad friend or whatever. I’m still mad at her.”

 

“Did she explain herself?”

 

“She said that she has like...trust issues or something, so when I didn’t show up her first instinct was to like never talk to me again and when I didn’t say anything to her, she thought that I didn’t care.”

 

“And what did you say?”

 

“I said...I had to go to class.”

 

“Clarabara…”

 

“I know! But I didn’t know what to say, Harry. I don’t know if I should forgive her. What do I do?”

 

Harry squeezed her shoulder. “This sort of thing is gonna happen to you a lot, love. You have to come up with your own answer.”

 

She looked at him. “But you must have an opinion.”

 

“Well, everyone’s going to have one of those.”

 

“So you admit you have one.”

 

“ _You_ have to do what _you_ think is right, Clara. It’s not my life, not my...friend.” He gave her a smirk.

 

“Shut up, she’s--was my friend.”

 

“You’re going to be alright no matter what you decide to do. I promise you.”

 

Clara groaned and fell back onto her bed. “You’re always so….”

 

“So what?”

 

“Vague!”

 

“My apologies. You’ll get over it.” Clara knew he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. This story is now over 30,000 words long, over 100 pages, and 20 chapters! It’s the longest fic I’ve ever written. Thank you for reading and I hope you liked link to the recording of how that part of the song sounds. Tell me if you want more of that. Thanks again <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'd like to apologize for it being over a week since I've updated. I haven't had time to really sit down and write. 
> 
> Second, I would like to apologize again for this chapter. Buckle up, guys. 
> 
> I would also like to reiterate the trigger warnings. Please don't read this if you're easily affected/triggered by self harm, suicide or mental illness.

_Family is the reason why when a tree is cut, its roots stay intact_

_Everything starts there, in the ground_

_Rip out the roots, and the tree will die_

_Cut off the trunk, and the stump will survive_

 

Clara looked down at what she’d written. It didn’t quite embody what she was trying to say. Maybe the tree metaphor was too cliche. Maybe it should've rhymed. She flipped the page.

 

_Remember the night the storm came_

_The one that rattled the window frames_

 

_I was afraid I might drown underneath the sounds of the screaming sky_

_I was terrified_

 

_“It’s a happy thing,” you said_

_Though my bones felt like lead from the weight of the dread_

 

_You said even the heavens cry sometimes_

_Or the Earth would be dry_

 

_You said wind is not blowing, it’s singing a song_

_And the thunder and rain help the rhythm along_

 

_The chaos of nature is music to your ears_

_And that’s why your presence strips me of my fears_

She liked this one because it was about Harry, but it didn’t seem to be enough. All the good poems she’d read had an element of mystery to them. A good poet seemed to know exactly how to toe the line between explicit meaning and abstractism. Perhaps her use of couplets was too contrived? The venture into free verse didn’t seem to be helping things along. The trouble was that she knew exactly what to say, and she had no idea how to say it.

 

She’d written some poems about Violet, but she couldn’t look back at them now, because she’d ripped them out of her journal. They weren’t any good anyway. She wasn’t sure if Harry knew about her journal or not. She supposed he knew she liked to write, but did he know _what_ she wrote? He’d probably get pretty scared if he flipped back far enough.

 

Clara wondered why she wanted so badly for her poems to be good if she never was able to find the courage to show them to anyone. Not a single person. Perhaps she was waiting for the right time. She didn’t know if it would ever come.

 

“It’s time to go, love!” came Harry’s voice from downstairs.

 

~~

 

“Clara?” asked a girl. Her name was Ally.

 

“Hm?” Clara looked up from her computer.

 

“We have to finish it by the end of the period.”

 

“Oh, right…” Clara scrambled for her pencil and wrote her name on the worksheet about triangles. “Find the missing side…” she muttered.

 

“So, uh...are you like gay?” Ally asked. Clara stopped writing.

 

“Where’d you hear that from?” Clara’s heart beat faster in her chest. She didn’t want everyone to know.

 

“Oh, uh, sorry if you’re not. I heard Violet saying something about it the other day. I don’t know.”

 

Clara frowned. “What did she say?”

 

“That you guys broke up. It’s cool though, like I don’t care. But I just wanted to know if it’s true.”

 

“I...It’s not true.” Clara said, feeling like she might cry. It wasn’t technically a lie. They hadn’t broken up because they were never officially dating, and that was all Clara’s fault anyway.

 

“Okay. Erm...sorry.” Ally paused. “Number one is five meters by the way.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

~~

“Eliot, you alright?” Harry asked. Eliot had been looking down at his notebook for the past five minutes with a blank stare.

 

“What? Sorry,” he said, looking embarrassed. “S-sorry...let’s...from the, uh…”

 

“Let’s take a break.” Harry said, sitting next to him. “What’s up?”

 

“Just sort of overwhelmed. But let’s just get back to--”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry hoped he wasn’t being too forward. He just wouldn’t be able to focus until Eliot felt better.

 

“Erm...it’s my brother. He’s been needing me to come over to help him take care of my niece.”

 

Harry was confused. “How old is she?”

 

“She’s ten. She’s..er...ill.”

 

“Oh.” Harry said. His face fell. “Will she be alright?”

 

“No one’s sure.”

 

The silence that filled the room had become all too familiar to Harry. “Why don’t we go somewhere?”

“What?”

 

Harry had been getting tired of the studio anyway. He was there for about five hours every day now. It’d probably be longer if he didn’t have to pick up Clara from school. “Somewhere else. We’ll eat ice cream. Something.”

 

Eliot gaped at him. “Ice cream?”

 

“Something. Trust me, it’s not going to help to sit there and think about it.”

 

“Okay.”

~~

 

“You know when you asked me to get ice cream, I assumed it wouldn’t be at your house again.” Eliot said, taking his first spoonful of dessert. “God, that’s amazing, what flavor is it?”

 

“Butter pecan.” Eliot let out a small moan of approval. “I’m sorry, I just don’t...I’m sort of wary of being out in public.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And I wanted to talk to you without someone asking for a picture, or God forbid, asking me about Clara.”

 

Eliot set his spoon down. “Do people do that?”

 

Harry let out a bitter chuckle. “More often than you’d think.” He paused. “I guess that’s sort of selfish--”

 

“No. No, it’s not. I’m having a good time.”

 

Harry leaned on his elbow. “And would that be because of me or the frozen dessert?”

 

A smile tugged at the corners of Eliot’s mouth. “Remains to be seen.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“So, what is it that ails you?” The dark-eyed man continued to eat.

 

“Me?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

 

“It might take my mind off--”

 

“Right...sorry. Erm...where do I start? My sister--Clara, I mean--She doesn’t...she’s not happy anymore. And I can’t fix it. She doesn’t smile like she used to.” Harry bit down hard on the inside of his lip, trying not to get emotional.

 

Eliot nodded. “That’s the worst part.”

 

“Sorry...this was supposed to help.”

 

The older man looked at Harry intensely. “It’s alright...just keep talking.”

 

“Maybe something else…”

 

He thought for a while, but didn’t think he’d be brave enough to say what he did next.

 

“There’s this person…”

 

“Does the person ail you?”

 

A nervous laugh escaped Harry. “I-in a way, they do.”

 

“Sorry to hear that.”

 

“B-but...it’s not, erm, bad. It’s like they...I think about them a lot.”

 

Eliot tilted his head and said, “Oh.”

 

“And I sort of want to be around them a lot…” Harry continued. He shifted his gaze to the floor. “And...sometimes...I make excuses for us to hang out.”

 

“Maybe the person thinks about you a lot too.” Eliot offered.

 

“Maybe.” Harry’s eyes remained fixed on the tile of the kitchen.

 

“And maybe this person...maybe he wants you to look at him.”

 

Harry did.

~~

 

“Hey, how have you been?” Violet asked as Clara shoved past her in the hall. “Clara, wait! You’ll have to talk to me sometime.”

 

Clara sped up. “Who says I do? I’ve got to get to maths.”

 

Violet grabbed Clara’s shoulder. “ _Stop._ ”

 

“Why?!” Clara said. It must’ve been loud, because a few people turned to look at her.

 

“Because I need to talk to you.”

 

“I’m _done_ talking, Violet. I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“There’s no one else I can say this to, C.” The bell rang.

 

“Great, now we’re bloody late.”

 

“Will you just _listen to me_?” Violet said in a hushed tone. She looked around and pulled Clara into the toilets. The girl looked around to make sure no one was there. Then, she did something odd.

 

She cried.

 

“Violet? What’s happened?”

 

“I...I...I’m so sorry, Clara. Y-you don’t--you deserve better th-than me.”

 

“Oh, Vi…” Clara closed the distance between them and wrapped her friend into a hug.

 

“No!” Violet managed. She broke free of the embrace. “I have to...I have to…”

“What is it?”

 

“I told my mum that I’m...that I like...girls.”

 

“Oh.” Clara’s pulse quickened, and she could feel the fear in the pit of her stomach. “What did she say?”

 

“She said...she’s n-not mad.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“But that she thinks it’s best if I live with my dad instead.”

 

Clara suddenly felt dizzy. “What? But he lives in Scotland.”

 

“A-apparrently they’ve been talking about it. E-even before. Sh-she said Dad’s more _unconventional_.”

 

“What? What the hell does that mean, Vi?”

 

“It means she doesn’t _want_ me, Clara! She said I’m leaving Thursday.”

 

Thursday. Two days. “No... _no_. Violet, I’m--”

 

“You don’t have to say something you don’t mean. It’s okay.” Violet wiped her face with her sleeve. “It’s my last day, C. Then you w-won’t have to look at me or listen to me ever again. Sound good?” Violet made a move for the door.

 

This time, it was Clara that stopped Violet. “No, _not_ good.” Violet opened her mouth to say something, but Clara took the girl’s face into her hands. She silenced her words with a kiss. Soft, warm, firm. Their fourth one.

 

Violet pulled away, bewildered. “No, no.” she muttered.

 

“Violet, please just…”

 

“I told you it’s too late!” she snapped. A sob escaped her, and her eyes overflowed with tears. “Why did you have to make it harder, Clara? Fucking why?!” She shoved past the black-haired girl and left.

Clara leaned against the tiled wall, tears of her own soiling her cheeks.

 

 _You ruin everything, Clara_ , came a familiar voice. She banged her head against the wall and slid down, down, down.

 

~~

 

Harry’s phone rang and he put his guitar down. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was Clara’s school. “Shit,” he breathed. “Hey, guys, I’m really sorry. It’s important.” Harry stepped out of the recording room.

 

“No worries,” Mitch said. “Hey, is Eliot okay?”

 

“Yeah, he is.” Harry said before ducking into an empty corner and sliding the green circle across the screen. “Hello?”

 

“May I speak to Mr. Styles regarding Clara Engelmann?”

 

“Speaking.”

 

“Mr. Styles, are you aware that Clara has only attended three classes today? She’s been marked absent in her fourth and fifth periods.”

 

“What?” That wasn’t like Clara. Not at all. Not ever.

 

“We have a very strict policy regarding skipping, Mr. Styles. Unless a student has been signed out by an authorized--”

 

“Erm..thank you I will...talk to her.”

 

“Mr. Styles--”

 

“Thank you.” He ended the call.

“You alright?” Jeff asked.

 

“I’ve got to go. Sorry, everyone. Emergency.”

 

“Harry what’s--” Before Jeff could finish, Harry was sprinting out the door.

~~

 

“Clara!” Harry yelled upstairs. No answer.

He ran up the stairs as fast as his legs would allow him to move. He rattled the doorknob. Locked.  “Clara! Are you alright?”

 

Silence.

 

“Clara?!”

 

Silence.

 

“Clara!” Harry screamed. It would take to long to get the key. A familiar feeling of dread overwhelmed him as he threw his weight against the door.

 

_Thud._

 

_Thud._

 

_Thud._

 

_Crack!_

 

The doorframe gave way, and he didn’t have time to prepare himself for what he saw. “No! Nononononono, love!”

 

She lay on the bed, her chest moving up and down shakily. Pills were scattered on the bed. Two bottles.

 

“No, no, no. How...how could you…”

 

He looked at her hands. They were blueblack.

 

He dialed 999.

 

Harry’s gaze fell to the papers on her nightstand. They’d been ripped from her journal. He picked them up.

 

“Please,” he kept saying into the phone.

 

Poems. The papers. They were poems she’d written.

 

He sat and pleaded.

 

He sat and read.

 

_S e L F i S H_

 

_I don’t think I was meant to be here_

_My soul’s encompassed with fear_

 

_All the time_

 

_A pretty rhyme won’t make me look or feel as it sounds_

 

_I long to join her on the hill_

_A selfish request, I know_

_A horrid, ugly, jagged thought_

 

_But for a long time, two sides of me have fought_

_One side has given up_

 

_No more, no more, no more_

_Sweet-sounding, sentimental, songs_

_By a benevolent, big not-brother_

 

_He will hate me now_

_And blame himself_

 

_For the things I did alone_

 

_the BLUEBLACK_

 

_The day was dark but your smile pulled me away from the blue, the blueblue_

_The only one who cared for me in the sea of unseen, unheard, unlearned_

 

_I chose to be angry, it matches my soul_

_But I didn’t think you’d leave_

_Blueblack blotches threaten my hand_

_You were the only one to understand_

 

_Back to the abyss_

_It’s where I belong_

 

_Maybe if I’m there long enough_

_I’ll find the courage to bring myself peace_

 

_Sweet, sweet release_

_Absent of the happy chemicals that control me_

 

_Maybe like those before_

_I can be set free_

 

_first Blue_

 

_then only_

 

_Black_

 

“Give me strength.” Harry sobbed.

 


	22. Chapter 22

_“Hi,” Came a voice from behind Clara. She ignored it; it probably wasn’t for her. Then someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to look. “Hi,” the girl repeated. She was pretty, Clara noted, the kind of pretty that makes people want to look at you. She must have been popular. “I’m Violet. I heard you’re new.”_

 

_“H-hi,” Clara sputtered. She wasn’t used to people paying attention to her at school in general, let alone someone with the prettiest hazel eyes she’d ever seen. “I’m Clara.” Or did she already know that?_

_“Cool, do you want me to show you around today?”_

 

_Clara nodded. She thought she’d have to ask someone awkwardly in the hallway where to go. People were impatient, she’d found. “Yeah, yeah that’d be great.”_

 

_“Have you got your timetable?”_

 

_Clara just stared ahead at the girl a few moments before remembering she’d been asked a question. “Timetable….Yes, right.” She fished in her back for the paper and held it out._

 

_“Oh, we’ve got a few classes together.”_

 

_“C-cool.”_

 

_“Listen, you don’t have be nervous. Most of the girls are really cool. I know people say girls’ schools are clique-y, but I think you’ll like it here.”_

 

_“Y-yeah I hope so.”_

 

_“So, why’d you transfer?”_

 

_Clara gulped. She wasn’t going to say more than she had to. “I had to move.”_

 

_“Oh, from…?”_

 

_“Cheshire.”_

 

_“Cool, like the cat.”_

 

_“Yeah.” She’d heard that about a few hundred times._

 

_“You like London, then?” Violet asked, taking a seat in the desk next to Clara’s._

 

_“It’s alright. There’s just...a lot of stuff.”_

 

_“Yeah, but that’s why I love it. There’s so many places to go. There’s always something else to see. It’s just…”_

 

_“Overwhelming?”_

 

_“Amazing.” Violet corrected.  “Maybe we can hang out and I’ll show you.”_

 

_“You just met me.”_

 

_“Yeah, but you seem alright.”_

 

_~~_

  


Harry was a mess. He hadn’t left the hospital room in two days. Gemma, his mother, Evan, and Abe were all in and out, but Harry hadn’t left. Clara would come in and out of consciousness, and when she spoke it was mostly incoherent. That was a product of the medications she was on, the doctors had said.

 

Her hands had been wrapped in bandages, and the doctor told him she’d managed t fracture her right hand at the knuckle. She was so little to him, he didn’t know how she’d done it.

 

Clara had mixed her antidepressants with sleeping pills. She’d started convulsing in the ambulance, and they told him she was having a seizure. She’d started to vomit, and he watched in horror as they laid her on her side.

 

It must have been a dream. It couldn’t have been true that Clara wanted to die, that she would _try_ something so...unthinkable. Hadn’t he done everything for her? Hadn’t he made her feel safe?

 

Was it not enough?

 

Clara woke up again, her brown eyes fluttering open. “Hello, darling.” Harry said, stroking her hair. “How do you feel?”

 

“Hurts,” Clara said. “Where’s Mummy? I want my mummy.”

 

“She’s not here just now, love.” Harry said. It nearly broke him, but he didn’t want to cause her any more distress.

 

“Will you tell me when she gets here?”

 

“Of course I will.”

 

Clara yawned and attempted to sit up. She managed to after a few tries. She squinted at him. “Which one are you?”

 

Harry shook his head in confusion. Did she not recognize him? “What?”

 

“There’s five of them,” Clara explained. “There’s two girls that look alike, and two boys that look alike and then there’s one with curly hair.”

 

“I’ve got curly hair,” he said softly.

 

“Oh. Harry.” Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. “Hiiiiii Harrryyyy,” she drawled.

 

“Hello, Clarabara.”

 

“Why can’t I move my hands?”

 

“Because you hurt them.”

 

“Aw, why?”

 

Tears threatened Harry’s eyes. “I don’t know why, love.”

 

“Okay,” she continued. “Can I go to Scotland, Harry?”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. She really wasn’t making any sense. “Why do you want to go there?”

“I’m not sure….it’s nice I think. It rains a lot and I like the rain.” She paused. “And Violet’s there and I like her too. But I don’t think she’d want to see me.”

 

“Clara, what are you talking about?”

 

“Ohhh...I think I know why I hurt my hands.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Violet is in the rainy place now. Soooo I got sad and I wanted to go to sleep, I think.”

 

“Clara...you tried to...kill yourself.” Harry was crying now.

 

Clara frowned. “No….Did I?” She blinked and rubbed her eyes, attempting to regain her focus. “I...I’m sorry.” She began to cry. “I’m so sorry, Harry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” Harry pulled her into a hug. She continued to apologize. “Sorrysorrysorrry,” she sobbed.

 

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. He already knew. He didn’t need her to say it. “It’s alright now.”

 

“Nonono, I’m sorry. I w-wanted to see Mummy, I think. I’m sorry. I made you so sad. I made everyone so sad.”

 

“Shh, it’s alright.” he said again, because he didn’t know what else he could say. She hurt him in the worst way possible. She tried to do the one thing he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to forgive her for.

 

“We got to, we got to...way,” Clara mumbled.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“When I’m sad I hum it, I think. What is it? I can’t remember.”

 

“It’s one of my songs.”

 

“Got to, got to, get awayyyy.” Clara sang faintly. “Is it yours? It’s nice, Harry.”

 

“Thank you.” He would’ve smiled if he wasn’t absolutely wrecked with emotion.

 

“Did you say earlier that my mummy is coming?”

 

“Yes, love, I did.”

 

A few pieces of hair fell in front of  Clara’s face, and she attempted to swat at them with her right hand. She winced, and let out a cry. Frustrated, she blew at the strands until Harry tucked the strands behind her ear. “Then you lied,” she said solemnly. “She’s not coming because she’s dead. Sorry I forgot.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“Harry?”

 

“Yes, darling?”

 

“Will you hold me?”

 

Harry wiped his face of tears. “Okay,” he said, like a whisper. He took his shoes off and stretched before pulling up the covers and scooting into the bed next to her. His arm wrapped around her and she rested her head on his chest. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sw-sweet….mmm...sleep.” Clara said, before drifting off back into slumber. Harry’s mind kept racing though. What had driven her to do this? Did it have to do with Violet? Had she been planning it and he had no idea? He was a horrible guardian, that was for sure.

 

~~

 

“I don’t understand.” Abe said. “She...she wasn’t depressed. In our visits--”

 

“If you thought she was happy at your visits, then she was putting it on for you.” Harry said. He was harsher than he should be, but the lack of sleep had made him agitated.

 

“How could you let this happen?” Abe said, and that was the final straw for Harry.

 

“How could _I_ let this happen? _Me_ ? Fuck off, Abe. You’re always so fucking righteous. You didn’t _want her_.”

 

“You little--”

 

“I did everything I could! She’s in therapy, she’s on medications! What was I supposed to do, keep her on a leash? She’s fifteen years old.” Harry felt his hands start to tremble. That man didn’t know the half of it.

 

“Don’t you dare say I didn’t want her!”

 

“You didn’t, though, or you would’ve fought for her!”

 

“What would be the point? So she could resent me? I’m not stupid, Harry. I know she wanted to live with you, not me. She doesn’t...know me.”

 

Harry felt his anger start to dissipate. He knew they were making a scene, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “It’s not like you asked after her.” he said finally. It was mean, but now wasn’t a time for politeness. “You never called. Not to ask how school was going, how she was coping after Jeanie. She wanted you to.”

 

“I knew how she was coping. She wasn’t. None of us were.”

 

“You’re right. None of us were.” Harry said, stepping backwards. “Now is not the time to be angry at me. It’s time to be thankful that we’re not having a very different conversation.” He peered through the glass at Clara sleeping, and his heart sank deeper, somehow.

 

~~

 

“Harry.” Someone tapped his shoulder. It was Evan.

 

“Go home, mate. I’ll stay with her.” Harry squirmed in his chair and blinked, trying to rid the sleep from his eyes. “God, have you been sleeping in that thing? I thought they would’ve have brought you a camp bed by now.”

 

Harry groaned and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. “I like being there when she wakes up, Ev. Besides, don’t you have classes today?”

 

“It’s Friday, so only two. But I’ll just grab the lecture notes off someone, it’s no big deal. Not that I’d be able to focus anyway. Harry, really. Go home. You need some proper sleep. And _not_ in a chair, yeah?”

 

Harry didn’t move, so Evan pulled up a chair next to him. All Harry wanted was to rewind, to be home to stop her, to hold her and tell her she was going to be alright.

 

“I thought she was getting better,” Evan said. He put his face in his hands.

 

“She was. And then she just…”

 

“You know it’s not your fault, right?”

 

“It is, though.”

 

“Shut up, Harry. It’s not. You did more for her than either of my parents would’ve done. You have to understand that. You’re everything to her. And if she did this with you there helping her, you better believe we’d be in the same situation or worse if she were with my dad.”

 

Harry began to cry again, but he had no more tears to give. He felt a pain in his chest. “What if I didn’t get home when I did?”

 

Evan wrapped his arm around Harry. “You can’t think about that, okay? You’ll just torture yourself. She’s got nurses and doctors looking after her, Harry. I’ll drive you back, and then I’ll stay with her. Your mum and Gemma are over there now so you won’t be alone. Please…just go and look after yourself.”

 

Harry was so exhausted that he couldn’t say anything else. He was grateful for Evan. Harry stood up and let the younger man steady him.

~~

 

“Mum!” Harry yelled when he got home. Footsteps came downstairs almost immediately. Arms wrapped around him.

 

“Harry, my love. My sweet, sweet boy.” Anne rubbed circles into his back, and he held onto her like he had done when he was little.

 

Gemma stood off to the side, eyes him with concern. “We’ve tidied up for you. Weren’t sure when you’d be back. Erm...C-Clara’s room is all...tidied as well.”

 

Harry let go of the embrace and went to hug his sister. “Thank you, Gems.”

 

“You know what, I’ll whip something up in the kitchen. Gemma, stay with your brother.”

 

It hurt Harry to see them both on the verge of tears like that. He walked a few steps and collapsed onto the couch. Gemma laid a blanket on top of him, although he wasn’t sure where she got it from. He was losing it, he was sure.

 

What if Clara woke up before Evan got there and she was all alone? He couldn’t bear the thought. And now he had just given up, coming home. It was his responsibility to sit in that god-awful chair and wait for her to flutter her eyes open so he could reassure her. He needed to be there to tell her that everything was going to be okay, even if he wasn’t sure himself.

 

“Harry?” Gemma said.

 

“Hm wh…” he mumbled, his eyes becoming heavy with sleep.

 

“I asked if you needed anything.”

 

He just shook his head and closed his eyes. He groaned a little when he felt Gemma lift up his head. “N-no…” he managed, but he abandoned his protest when his head sunk into something soft.

 

“Sleep.” Gemma said.

 

So he did.

 

But not without dreams.


	23. Chapter 23

_“Harry, I’m running away.” Clara said. She had her backpack on and was stood in front the door._

 

_“Are you sure?” he asked. “Where will you go?”_

 

_“Scotland. Or the hill. I’m not sure.”_

 

_“The hill? What do you mean?”_

 

_“I’ve got five pounds in my right pocket and three pounds in my left one. Is that enough to get to Scotland?”_

 

_Harry started to cry. “Don’t leave me, please. Stay here, and I can teach you to play guitar. And I’ll hold you when you’re sad. Promise.”_

 

_“I think I’ll go to Scotland and then the hill. We all end up at there anyway.”_

 

_“What’s the hill?!”_

 

_Clara giggled, and she looked younger. “Where Mummy is, silly.” She reached into her bag, and Harry saw her hands. They were dark purple and gray at the knuckles. He screamed. “Don’t be sad, Harry. We all end up there.”_

 

_“Your hands…” he sputtered._

 

_“Do you like them? They’re violet, I think. That reminds me— Scotland! Goodbye, Harry.”_

 

_He grabbed her arm. “Stay! We can go together!”_

 

_“But you’re not ready yet,” Clara said, frowning. “Let go.”_

 

_“No. Nononono,” he protested._

 

_“Let go!” she screamed. Her arms began to turn purple-gray, the sickly color creeping up to her elbows. It peeked out of the collar of her shirt until her whole face was the grim shade of  “violet.” Clara looked down at herself. “Look what you did to me!”_

 

_“I...I’m sorry I—”_

 

_“Look what you did! It’s your fault! Your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault!” Clara repeated. “Say it!” she demanded._

 

_“My fault, my fault, my fault.”_

 

“My fault...My f-fault…” Harry mumbled. “My fault!” Harry shot awake. His face and chest were covered with a sheen of sweat. He felt sick to his stomach.

 

Saliva gathered in his mouth and he leaned over the side of the couch, vomiting on the floor. It took three heaves to empty his stomach, and he stayed in that position while he tried to spit the rest of the mucus out of his mouth. “Harry!” came a voice. “Shit, Harry that’s disgusting,” Gemma muttered. “Are you alright?”

 

“W-water.” is all he said. Soon, the mouth of a cup was being pressed to his lips, and he grabbed it. He looked up at Gemma, who had pinched her nose closed.

 

“It’s okay, little brother.” she said. “I’ll clean it up.”

 

“No, Gemma,” Harry said. “It’s my sick, I’ll do it.”

 

“But you should be resting.”

 

“I’ve rested enough.” Harry said resolutely. He sat up and stepped carefully around the wretched-smelling puddle before stomping toward the kitchen.

 

“Was it something you ate?” Gemma called after him.

 

“Haven’t eaten much, Gems.” he called back. He grabbed the entire roll of paper towels from the counter and began rummaging in the cupboard for a trash bag.

 

“Harry, just let me.” Gemma persisted, walking into the kitchen.

 

“No, I’ll do it.” he said. “It’s fine.” he was beginning to get annoyed. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone to cry and smell of bile? He didn’t need her there, as nice as it was to see her, and he didn’t need a babysitter.

 

Harry left the kitchen without another word. When he got back to the puddle, he unrolled about half of the paper towels and strewed them across the floor, rubbing circles with his foot. He grabbed up the paper and threw it in the bag, all the while ignoring his sister behind him. “Leave me be.” he said, almost gagging from the stench.

 

“Just let me take care of you. Please.”

 

Harry shook his head. “The only one who needs taking care of right now is in the hospital.”

 

“You know that’s not true, Harry. We’re all hurting.”

 

Harry threw away the rest of the dirty paper towels and turned to face his sister. “How badly was she hurting if she thought the only option was to….”

 

Gemma pulled her brother into a hug. “Stop it.”

 

“Who’s with her now?” Harry asked in a meek voice.

 

“Mum’s with her.” Harry nodded and disentangled himself from his sister’s grasp, making a beeline for the stairs. “Where are you going now?”

 

“To order a new door.” he said grimly. “One that doesn’t lock.”

 

“Aren’t you going to shower first?”

 

“Nope!” he called back. He knew he was being indignant and a bit hostile, but he didn’t really care. He was angry, though he wasn’t sure who he was angry at. He knew there was nothing more he could have done. Right?

 

When he reached the top of the stairs, he made a right instead of a left. He stood in front of  Clara’s bedroom and took in the sight of it. Everything looked normal, save for the sight of the busted door frame and the door hanging on two hinges instead of three.

 

He went in and noticed that his mother and Gemma had placed the poems and her journal in a neat stack on her nightstand. The bed had been made up, but when he looked at it, he still saw the image of the little girl gasping for air. Maybe she had even been regretting her decision by then; he didn’t know.

 

Harry understood why she did it. Deep down, he knew. It wasn’t one instance or the other, but a million little ones piled on top of her like bricks. How could it be fair that she had to put in so much effort just to feel normal, happy? Giving up would always be an enticing thought for her.

 

Had the poems been there on purpose, like a farewell, or had the act of looking at them stirred something inside of her? He picked up the journal and flipped to a page at the end.

 

_No friends. No friends. No one likes me. I just make everything harder for everybody. When I’m on my meds, I feel weird. Better, but it’s not me. Everything gets dulled, and all I can think about is getting my work done. I get up and go to school every day and I feel like there’s no point, no greater meaning. When I don’t take my meds, everything falls apart, but at least I feel organic. This is the third kind of medicine they’ve tried and I’m beginning to think I’m just a lost cause._

 

_I think I’m very, very sick. Because today I looked up ways to kill myself without it hurting, because I’m a wimp. There aren’t a lot of good options. If I take a bunch of pills, I might not even die and then I’ll have brain damage or something._

 

_I KNOW it sounds so fucked when I write it out. And it hurts a lot to think about what it would do to Harry and everyone else, so I try not to. I listen to a song a lot called Truce because it sounds like a lullaby and it makes me feel better for a little bit, calmer. Also like the way the words look when I write them in cursive._

 

_I will fear the night again._

_I hope I’m not my only friend._

_Stay alive, stay alive, for me._

_You will die, but now your life is free._

_Take pride in what is sure to die._

 

Harry dropped the book on the floor. He fell onto the floor, panting. He screamed. It was guttural, and he sounded like a wounded animal. He heard footsteps bounding up the stairs.

 

“What happened?” Gemma asked from the doorway.

 

“Nothing, I just forgot how to breathe for a second.”

 

“Do you want to be alone?”

 

“No.”

 

~~

 

Clara’s eyes fluttered open, and she blinked to make the world come into focus. What had happened. Oh, right, she was in hospital. There was a cast on her right hand and bandages on her left, and they throbbed. She winced and turned her head. Anne was sitting by her side, reading a book. She looked up.

 

“Oh, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” She leaned over to smooth Clara’s hair down and press a kiss to her forehead.

 

“Auntie, where’s Harry?”

 

“He’s gone home to rest, my dear.”

 

“Okay. My hands hurt. What did I do to them?”

 

“You...sprained one...and fractured the other one.” Anne said softly.

“Oh.” Of course she had. She was so stupid. Of course she’d fucked up so much she couldn’t even use her own hands.

 

“How bad is he taking it?”

 

“Very badly.”

 

“When is he coming back?”

 

“I’m not sure, love, but I can call him and ask him to come. Go on back to sleep. You need to rest.”

 

Clara let her eyes fall shut for a while, and when she opened them again, Harry had taken her auntie’s place. “Mm…H-harry.” she whispered.

 

“Hello, Clarabara.” he kissed her on the top of her head. “Do you feel better?”

 

“A bit. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. All that matters now is that you’re okay. “

 

“What’s going to happen now?”

 

A sighed escaped Harry. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. “Well, they’re gonna transfer you to the mental health unit in the morning.”

 

Her eyes widened. “For how long?”

 

“Until they think you’re stable enough to come home.”

 

She started to cry. “Just let me come home. I’ll be good, I promise. I promise.”

 

Harry just shook his head, eyes down. It wasn’t the first time she’d promised. As long as she was in this state, there wasn’t anything he could do to help except offer her comfort. “You haven’t got a choice, love.”

 

“But-but I-I can’t! I want to go home!”

 

“I’ll visit you every day.” _That_ was a promise. “You’ll be alright. Brave face.”

 

“I’m scared.”

 

“Me too. But you’re going to come home. Then you’re going to get better.” They’d pick up the pieces and move forward.

 

When Clara was asleep again, Harry pulled out his phone and wrote a text.

 

 _To:_ **_Louis_ **

 

**_Can I come over?_ **

 

His hand hovered over the blue arrow for a while before he decided to press it. He probably wouldn’t answer. Either he was too busy with the show or he simply didn’t want to talk. Harry just needed to be with someone who wasn’t apart of his family. He needed comfort. A different sort.

 

_Is everything ok?_

 

The reply came only a few minutes after, and he regretted saying anything at all. He didn’t need to burden Louis with his problems right now, he had problems of his own. Even still, he found himself typing again.

 

**_No. Nothing is okay_ **

 

_What’s happened?_

 

**_I just need to be with someone_ **

 

**_Is she with you?_ **

 

_No_

 

**_Be there soon_ **

 

_Ok_

  
Harry wondered if this would be a mistake. Then he realized he didn’t care.


	24. Chapter 24

There was an arm draped over Harry’s torso, and a head on his chest. He squinted against the light coming in from the window, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. It was 6:30, and that meant they’d be moving Clara in a few hours. He had to be there for that.

 

He shifted into an upright position and Louis groaned at the loss of warmth. “Haz…”

 

“I’ve got to go,” he whispered.

 

Louis blinked his eyes open and looked at him. “Why?”

 

“Because it’s important.”

 

“You’re really not going to tell me? You come over and you get me into bed, but you can’t tell me why you suddenly want to see my beautiful face?”

 

“It’s Clara.”

 

Louis’ brow knit together, and he sat up. “What’s happened?”

 

“She...tried to kill herself, Lou. I...I found her.”

 

“Christ,” Louis breathed. He wrapped Harry in a hug. “Is she alright?”

 

“Going to be. She’s in hospital now. They’re moving her to the psych ward today.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

Harry breathed out sharply. “And I can’t keep doing this.”

 

“Harry, it’s alright...She’ll be okay.”

 

“No, I mean... _this_.” He gestured to the both of them.

 

“Oh. Right.” Louis ran his fingers through his hair. “But you wanted—”

 

“I did. But it wasn’t fair, isn’t fair. Lou...I’m...I need to be with someone I can _be_ with. Not just when we can or when it’s...convenient.”

 

Louis’ eyes narrowed, and he pulled the blanket off of himself to stand up. Harry watched him cross the room in his briefs and open the bedroom door. “If you want to talk, we can bloody talk. Next time, don’t fucking use me.”

 

“Louis—”

 

Louis leaned against the doorframe, and his face softened. “I’m sorry about Clara, Haz.”

 

Louis stood there and watched Harry dress himself. Harry made slow work of it, fearing what would happen once he left. Even with his back turned, he could feel Louis’ gaze, but it didn’t make him feel warm like it usually did. It made him feel embarrassed. He decided to leave his shirt undone.

 

Harry walked over to Louis, who reached out to run his fingers across his butterfly tattoo. Harry leaned in to kiss Louis. “You’d better go now, Harry.”

 

Harry nodded and started down the stairs. Tears blurred his vision, but he just let them fall freely.

 

~~

Clara was petrified, empty, exposed. Every bit of freedom had been stripped from her. She had to hand over her phone charger and was told that she would have to get a member of staff to charge it for her. As if she would try and hurt herself with a phone cord. They took the laces out of her shoes, so they were loose on her feet as she paced her room. This was worse than being grounded, worse than anything. “Can you bring me my ukulele, Harry?” she’d pathetically asked, hanging on his arm. She hadn’t want him to leave.

 

“Instruments aren’t permitted.” the nurse had interjected coldly.

 

Harry had hugged her and stroked her hair down the way her mother used to, to soothe her. “You’ve got a journal to write in, you’ve got your books, your favorite blanket. You’ll be okay, my love.” he had whispered. She almost believed him. Now she was all alone, and that shook her to the core.

 

The room they’d put her up in was concrete, floor to ceiling. The opposite wall had a small window, allowing a glimpse of the city outside, only obscured by crisscrossed metal bars to remind her of her lack of freedom. She sat on the bed and let the dread ruminate in her belly.

 

Tears were starting in her eyes as the door opened and a girl stepped inside. The nurse who’d escorted her there didn’t utter a single introduction before shutting the door and locking it. The girl didn’t speak either, and she let her long hair fall in front of her eyes. She looked to be around Clara’s age if not a bit older. “H-hi…” Clara muttered.

 

The girl focused her eyes on Clara for a moment. “Hi.” she said, before looking to the other bed. She lay down on top of the covers. “So what’s your problem?”

 

Clara sat down on the edge of her bed. What was she supposed to say? “I tried to kill myself.”

 

The girl put her hands behind her head. “Why didn’t you, then?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why didn’t you?”

 

“I wanted to—”

 

“If you wanted to, you’d be dead.” the girl said simply. “Probably didn’t take the whole bottle, did you?”

 

“What’s your problem, then?” Clara asked, annoyed but intimidated.

 

“Do you want my problem or the reason I’m in here?”

 

“Either.”

 

“I cut too deep,” she sighed, “almost fuckin’ died.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Guess we got something in common, Roomie. I’m Wendy.”

 

“Clara.”

 

“Can you hold a conversation, _Clara_ , or are you one of those antisocial fucks? Gotta know.”

 

“I can hold a conversation.” Clara said through gritted teeth. This was going to be exhausting.

 

“Good.”

 

Clara decided to go on the offensive. “Are you always a bitch or just today?”

 

Wendy laughed. “I like you, Roomie.” She turned to face Clara, her face softening. “Listen, this isn’t my first time in here. You go crazy if you don’t have someone to talk to. Well, more crazy, I guess.”

 

Clara frowned. She couldn’t imagine one stay in the psych ward, let alone two. Clara watched as Wendy scratched at her arms through her oversized sweater.

 

~~

 

Harry roused from his half-asleep daze when he heard his phone buzz.

 

**Elliot - songwriter**

_I heard you had a family emergency. Are you alright?_

 

Harry debated whether he should respond. He didn’t want to burden Eliot, and they had been getting sort of close in the days prior to...the incident; that scared him. He also didn’t want him to worry.

 

**_I’m okay. Don’t think I’ll get back in the studio any time soon._ **

 

_I hope you feel better. I don’t know how I could help, but if you need anything…_

Harry smiled to himself a little. Maybe he could help with something? The feeling of isolation was beginning to creep up on him, and he didn’t like it; he hated to be alone. That was why he’d lived in Ben’s attic and crashed in Ed’s flat when he had a house of his own. Gemma and his mother had left, because he’d insisted they get back to their lives, that he could carry on alone. He was wrong. Clara had been a blessing, because she’d kept him grounded. He couldn’t afford to lose his way if he was guiding someone else.

 

**_Actually are you busy right now?_ **

 

_No why?_

 

**_Would you want to hang out at mine and watch a film or something_ **

 

_Now?_

 

**_Yeah_ **

 

**_If you want_ **

 

_Okay I’ll be right over then_

 

**_Ok_ **

 

_~~_

 

“Hey, how are you?” Eliot said, his brow knit with worry. He gave Harry a hug, and Harry trembled in the older man’s arms.

 

“Thanks for coming.” Harry said, and he let Eliot follow him to the living room. He collapsed onto the couch with a thud.

 

“Harry…Can I ask what happened?” Eliot stood next to the couch, looking down at Harry with concern. Harry’s eyes were bloodshot, and the skin underneath was shadowed grey.

 

Harry looked up at him with sad eyes. “Clara...She…” Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “She tried to kill herself.” He was too exhausted to cry. Harry stared ahead blankly. He felt Eliot sit close to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Oh.” Eliot whispered. His breath made the hairs on Harry’s neck stand up.

“She’s in hospital now in the—the psych….” he trailed off, losing his concentration. Absently, he got up. “I need a...I need a beer. Do you want one?”

 

Eliot followed Harry helplessly into the kitchen. “I don’t really drink beer.” he said.

 

Harry opened the fridge. “That’s funny, neither do I.” He scanned the shelf. “Haven’t got any anyway. Could have sworn Gemma picked some up…” He drifted over to his alcohol cupboard and opened it with a lot more force than necessary. “But I do….” he said, lifting a white wine bottle off of the shelf, “drink wine.” He opened another cupboard to get two wine glasses and held them in one hand as he searched for the corkscrew. “Aha! Bloody thing.”

 

Harry poured two glasses without asking whether Eliot wanted any. Eliot took a sip, watching Harry down his entire glass. “Harry...you should slow down, mate.” Harry ignored him though, reaching to pour another glass, stopping only at the word, “Harry.” Harry looked up, as if to ask what was the matter. “Why did you invite me over?”

 

“Because I couldn’t be alone. And I can’t do something stupid,” he said.

 

Eliot narrowed his eyes. “Stupid like what?”

 

“Like get sad-angry, throw my shit everywhere, slip and fall and get glass in my foot and a concussion.”

 

“That was very...specific.” It was specific because it had happened after Jeanie died.

 

“But also because I like you.” Harry said, his voice free of hesitation or worry.

 

“I like you too.” He paused. “And she’s going to be okay, yeah?”

 

Harry gave him a slow nod.  “I hope so.” He took another sip of his wine and looked at Eliot from across the counter. He wondered if this was another mistake. He felt embarrassed, and he didn’t think about how Eliot would react to seeing him so vulnerable. Harry usually walked with an air of confidence, assuredness. He was positive and made others laugh. All that had been stripped away, and he wasn’t sure if it was something Eliot was ready or willing to witness, but there he was. He trusted him, although he wasn’t sure yet if that was wise.

 

“Thought we were watching a film.”

 

“We can, we can. We...let’s, erm, let’s, yeah put it...I ‘ll put a…” Harry decided to stop talking. He made beeline for the door, hitting his side on the corner of the counter and spilling some of the wine. “Fucking....” he muttered. “I’ll go put on the film!” He stomped into the other room, and he could hear Eliot laughing behind him.

 

Yeah, it might have been a mistake, but he’d been making loads of those, so what was one more?

 

They put on a romantic comedy, because Harry thought it would make him feel better. He was wrong.

 

“There’s the airport scene, right on schedule.”

 

“This movie gets a pass, it’s a classic.” Harry countered.

 

“Never seen it.”

 

Harry frowned. “You’ve never seen _Love Actually_ before?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“That’s just unacceptable.”

 

“Well, I’ve seen it now, haven’t I?”

 

“Not the same,” Harry huffed, crossing his arms.

 

“What, I’ve got to see it when I’m younger so it serves as a foundation for my perception of romance?”

 

“Yup.”

 

Eliot grinned. “Sorry.”

 

Harry got close to his face, looked into his eyes, and said, “No you’re not.”

 

Eliot turned his head to face the television, and Harry rested his head on his shoulder. “What are you doing, Harry?”

 

Harry smirked. “I’m not doing anything, are you doing something?”

 

Eliot scoffed and shook his head. “Is that so?”

 

“Certainly is.” A palpable silence engulfed the room for a few moments.

 

Before Harry knew what was happening, Eliot had turned his head again, their faces dangerously, excitingly close. Eliot leaned in and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

 

And Harry loved every second.

 

Gone were the thoughts of parenting, of _Clara_ , because all Harry could think was that the kiss might end, and he had to do everything in his power to keep that from happening.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the budding Eliot and Harry relationship ! Sorry it's been a bit since an update, I've had a lot with school and then thanksgiving. 
> 
> Anyway I'd like to start taking prompts I think, so if you've been reading and there's an idea for a fic comment it or message me on one of the links below :))))
> 
> Twitter [@WeShouldOpenUp](http://twitter.com/WeShouldOpenUp?lang=en)
> 
> Wattpad [@therosepose](http://www.wattpad.com/user/therosepose)  
> 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another long wait! I've been very busy as of late :o

Clara woke up to screaming. She rolled over and tried to blink the sleep from her eyes. She saw Wendy thrashing about in her bed. Groggily, she tiptoed across the cold tile to wake her roommate.

 

“Hey…” she whispered, shaking the girl’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

 

Wendy’s eyes shot open, and for a moment, Clara saw terror in her eyes. Then they softened as she frowned in confusion. “What?”

 

“You were having a nightmare,” Clara said, retreating to her own bed. “A loud one.”

 

“I get them a lot. Nothing helps.”

 

“What was it about?”

 

“Can’t remember. I was scared shitless, though,” she said, rolling onto her side.

 

“Sometimes I get them about my mom.”

 

“She died?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That shit fucks you up forever. Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” Clara mumbled. She grabbed the pillow beside her and hugged it.

 

“If it was, you wouldn’t be here. Listen, I’m sorry for being a dickhead, alright? You’re just a kid, that was mean.”

 

“You can’t be that much older than me.”

 

“I’m seventeen.”

 

“That’s just two years.”

 

Wendy let out a bitter laugh. “A lot happens in two years.” She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The moonlight shone in from the window and illuminated her right side. She was pretty, Clara realized. “Can I ask...why did you…?”

 

“My...friend was moving away. And then I felt like I couldn’t live anymore.”

 

“Must have been a great friend.”

 

Clara smiled a little. “Yeah...we were...she was my, my....”

 

“Oh.” Wendy nodded and looked towards the window to diffuse the tension between them. She scratched at her arms and pushed up her sleeves; they were wrapped in bandages. “At least you have a reason. I’m just a fuckin’ psychopath. Did this to myself ‘cause I got mad. That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

 

Clara felt her heart sink. “No, it’s not.” It wasn’t stupid. She’d done it and felt the desperation it took to her there.

 

“Sure it is.”

 

“There’s always a bigger reason.” Clara said. Her gaze fell to the ground. “I heard the doctor say that if I was found any later…”

 

“You’d be dead.” Wendy finished. “Mine said that too.”

 

~~

 

It had been two weeks since Clara was admitted to hospital. Eliot was over every day, and Harry didn’t really mind it. They told each other it was to brainstorm, but the glint in their eyes said otherwise. Harry enjoyed the company. He had asserted firmly to Eliot that he’d go insane if left to his own devices, and Eliot took it as an invitation; it was.

 

“What’re you always working on on your laptop?” Harry asked one morning, peeking into the office space he never used.

 

“Music.” The man replied, and he continued to work.

 

“You’re not going to tell me?” Harry frowned and feigned offense. “Rude. I let you into my house, you eat my food—”

Eliot took off his headphones and turned around, laughing. “Harry, I’m just mixing audio.”

 

“Let me listen.”

 

“It’s not done!” Eliot protested. “If I let you listen now, you’ll form an inaccurate opinion of my abilities.”

 

Harry deadpanned. “Eliot, that doesn’t even make any sense. Come on, I’m _bored_.”

 

Eliot groaned. “Fine, come here.” Harry crossed the room and leaned on the older man’s shoulders. He put on the headphones as Eliot pressed play.

 

“Is that— is that you singing?” Harry asked. It was definitely him. It was a soft song, the kind that’s sentimental and poetic. He didn’t expect to hear that from Eliot, but then again, he wasn’t sure _what_ he expected. It was beautiful.

 

_Let me forget my name and start anew_

_Works of art are almost never true_

 

Eliot paused it. “What does it mean?” Harry asked.

 

The black-haired man smirked and said, “I think I’ll quote you and say it means whatever you think it does.”

 

“That’s not fair, I’m not the media. I’m your—”

 

“My what?”

 

Harry wasn’t ready to have that conversation. “Are you making an album?”

 

“Yes…But…”

 

“But…?”

 

“But I don’t think anyone’s going to hear it except me.”

 

“Are you joking?”

Eliot turned his gaze back to the computer. “It’s personal.”

 

“Music is always personal, Eliot. I don’t get it. You have all the connections.”

 

“It’s not about that.” he said, shaking his head.

 

“Then what is it about?”

 

“They’re just for me, okay? A-and Stella.” Harry frowned. “My niece.” He was silent for a few moments.  “She’s got leukemia. I didn’t tell you.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“I make the songs for her and she loves them. That’s...that’s our thing.”

 

Harry drew Eliot up into a hug and held him there a while.

 

“I’m sorry.” Harry felt terrible. He’d invaded Eliot’s privacy and dredged up something painful. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Eliot pulled away and smiled, wiping at his eyes. “It’s alright.” He pulled out his phone to look at the time. “You’ve got to go anyway. It’s visiting hours.”

 

“Eliot— “

 

“Go on, I’ll be fine.”

~~

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” Clara said. It was a lie, but she didn’t care. She wanted to go home. Therapy was exhaustive. She didn’t need someone to figure her out and tell her what habits she should adopt. She already knew, and it wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

 

“Better? Could you expand on that for me?”

 

“Less bad?”

 

“What does ‘less bad’ mean to you?”

 

Clara sighed. She’d have to make it convincing. “It means...I can get through the day without thinking about….”

 

“Yes?”

 

“About killing myself.” On the contrary, that was all she could think about, day and night. She thought about how she either should have done it right the first time, or never done it at all.  

 

“That’s good, that’s good.”

 

_Clara ran inside and slammed the door behind her. She was out of breath, it was only a kilometer walk home from school, but sprinting it wasn’t very fun. Her lungs started to burn as she calmed down, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly in an attempt to regulate her heart rate._

 

_She needed to do something, to feel something. She stumbled into the kitchen, looking for something, anything sharp. She pulled on the knife drawer, but it wouldn’t budge. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, “He fucking locked it.”_

 

_She was still for a moment, there in the kitchen. A frightening realization overcame her; she was really going to do it. Whatever way she could, it was going to happen. It exhilarated her in the most sinister way._

 

_Upstairs, she went into Harry’s room. She always envied how tidy it looked all the time. She tore the pillows off the bed in frustration before going into the bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet. She wondered why he’d left it open, but it didn’t matter._

 

_She grabbed her antidepressants, and the bottle next to them. It was medicine prescribed to Harry. She didn’t bother looking up what it was for._

 

_Clara ran back into her room and locked the door. The house was eerily silent as she placed her poems on the nightstand for Harry. She’d double and triple checked them. They were going to be her final message to him, after all._

 

_ She made her way to the wall and punched it, again, and again with both hands, until they throbbed so badly she couldn’t stand it anymore. _

 

_The adrenaline began to wear off.  Wounded sobs escaped her as she opened the two bottles and poured them on the bed. She mixed them around and shoved a handful in her mouth, downing them with a gulp of a water bottle._

 

_She did this again, and again. Her head felt faint, and her muscles weak. She closed her eyes and let the water spill onto the floor. “I’m sorry,” she whispered._

 

“What?” Clara said, attempting to regain focus.

 

“I said that’s good.”

 

“Oh.” Clara said. “I don’t think my medicine is working.” Maybe she’d tell the truth for once. Maybe just this once, she really, really would.

 

“You said you feel better.”

 

“I think...I think that’s an impulse…”

 

“To lie about how you’re doing?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

~~

“Hey, my love.” Harry whispered, rubbing slow circles into Clara’s back. “How are you today?”

 

“Bad,” she whimpered.

 

Hearing that was a knife through Harry’s heart, but he kept his voice level. “You’re going to get better,” he said.

 

“Why is it taking so long?”

 

Harry looked at her with sad eyes. What was he supposed to tell her? What did he know? He wasn’t her mother, he was just...Harry. “First, you have to believe it,” he said.

 

“Harry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did that. I’m sorry you can’t trust me anymore. Just make me live with my dad or Auntie.”

“Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me, love. Is that alright?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you remember the first time you went to therapy and you promised me something?” Clara nodded. “Can you tell me what it was?”

 

“That I’d really try.”

 

“I’m still holding you to that. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! I've got an extra long Christmas chapter for you! I hope you enjoy and have a lovely holiday.

The hospital had decided Clara was ready to come home. Eliot had left once he was “no longer needed” and the house felt a bit empty, even with Clara’s return. It was freezing outside, and Harry had made hot chocolate for him and Clara. He said they were going to watch a movie, which wasn’t really false, he was just using it as a front so he initiate a more difficult conversation.

 

“Hey, Harry? Can we watch one of those stupid Netflix Christmas movies? I feel like laughing.” Clara snuggled into her blanket on the couch, nursing her mug.

 

Harry smirked, happy that she seemed somewhat normal. “ _ A Christmas Prince _ was actually very sentimental and I appreciated it.”

 

“Whatever.” She shook her head. 

 

Harry took a sip of his drink while Clara searched through movies. “Mm, Clarabara?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can I talk to you about something?”

 

She put the remote down, looking a bit disappointed. Clara turned to face him, looking somewhat ashamed. Harry felt a pang of guilt in his chest. “Sure.”

 

“So, erm, I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I’ve come to a decision about school.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I think it would be best, at least for now, if you were homeschooled.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Obviously, you have a say in this, but I think school is too stressful for you right now. I don’t want you putting yourself down if you can’t keep up, especially with all the time you missed. I know you liked having the tutor on tour, and I really think it helped you. We can bring back the same one if you like.”

 

“So...you’re just going to leave me here alone?”

 

“I’ll be home. A lot. You can come with me to the studio, we’ll get you involved in other things.”

 

“Other things like what?”

 

“Well, for starters, you need to exercise.”

 

“But I don’t like exercise.”

 

“Which is why you need to do it. A healthy body fosters a healthy mind.” Clara rolled her eyes. “That’s non-negotiable, sorry.”

 

“Fine, whatever.”

 

“Listen, this isn’t a punishment. It’s just an adjustment. You might even like it better. You’ll be able to go with me on more business trips, and we can take more vacations. Doesn’t that sound good?”

 

“I’m still hung up on the exercise, to be honest.” 

 

Harry laughed and rubbed her back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“So...how’re things with that guy?”

 

“What guy?”

 

“You know I’m not stupid, right?”

 

“It’s going...okay. Good.”

 

“What was his name?”

 

“Eliot.”

 

“Eliot…” Clara tested the name in her mouth. “That’s kind of a wimpy name.”

 

Harry shoved her playfully. “No, it’s not.”

 

“It definitely is.” She paused. “Does he write poetry? Well, he’s a songwriter, so of course he does.” 

 

Harry glared at her and crossed his arms. “ _ You _ write poetry.”

 

“Yeah but my name isn’t wimpy. Anyway, the point is you deserve a nice guy with a wimpy name who writes poetry.”

 

“Thank you?”

 

“You’re welcome.” Clara turned her attention back to the screen and frowned. “I don’t wanna watch a Christmas movie anymore.”

 

“What do you want to watch, then?”

 

“Can we watch a gay movie?”

 

Harry scoffed and let out a little laugh. It was a very Clara thing to ask, and he was glad that she was comfortable enough to express herself more openly. “No.” 

 

“What? Why not?”

 

“Because every single gay movie ever made is rated R.”

 

“So?”

 

“I want to watch a family friendly film.”

 

“That’s stupid. Why aren’t there any cute gay romantic comedies?”

 

“Because that’s just the world we live in, Clarabara.”

 

Clara sighed. “Fine, put on _ Notting Hill,  _ I guess.” She’d already seen it once, but it was a classic, one they’d both enjoyed. She really just wanted to feel close to Harry again after the time away. Harry put his arm around her and she snuggled into him. She felt safe.

 

~~

 

Harry knocked on the doorframe to Clara’s room, looking in through the empty doorway. Clara looked up from her guitar. “That sounds pretty. You’re getting good at that.”

 

Clara smiled at him. “I still can’t get the barre chords.”

 

He shrugged. “That’ll come with time.” He paused. “Sorry about your door. You’ll get a new one soon.”

 

“Maybe I don’t deserve one.” 

 

Harry was silent. He moved to sit next to her. “Play something for me.”

 

“I don’t know a lot of stuff yet.”

 

“Play some chords, then.” Hearing her play filled him with such joy, and pride. He was proud, despite everything. He felt tears well up in his eyes, and he blinked them back before Clara could notice.

 

“Thank you for the guitar.”

 

“Of course, Clarabara. I’m glad you like it.”

 

“I think...I think I want to write songs.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“Y-yeah, it’s fun. And it’s just like poems but better, I think. Like, like I wrote this thing the other day… I just really like it.”

 

This was news to Harry. He knew she sang but not that she’d been writing songs. “How many songs have you written?”

 

“Only like...three full ones. I end up making lots of choruses but I’m bad at verses, or the initial idea sounds like a verse and I try making it the chorus and it sounds bad.”

 

“Can I hear one?”

 

“No.”

 

“How come?”

 

“They’re bad.”

 

“I’m sure they’re not as bad as you think.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you’re wrong about that. Don’t know why you have so much blind faith in me all the time.”

 

“It’s not blind.”

 

“Thank you.” Clara said abruptly. She set the guitar down next to her and fell back onto the bed. She buried her face in her hands. Being back in the same place she’d tried to take her life made her realize how lost she’d become. And if it weren’t for Harry, she wouldn’t be alive.

 

Harry tilted his head. “What for?”

 

“I...I said I was sorry for trying...trying to...But I never said thank you. You-you saved me.” In more ways than one. 

 

Harry lay back next to her. He peeled one of her hands off her face and gripped it in his own. He said nothing, but sang a soft melody they both were familiar with. “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, now it looks as though they’re here to stay, oh I believe in yesterday.” It was breathy, almost a whisper.

 

Clara was crying now, and squeezed Harry’s hand even tighter. “I can’t sleep in here tonight.” Her head spun with the soft sound of the tender lyrics filling the air.

 

_ Why she had to go, I don’t know _

_ She wouldn’t say _

_ I said something wrong _

_ Now I long for yesterday. _

 

Harry was supposed to go to a Christmas party, but he couldn’t. He had to stay home with her to make sure she was safe. There wasn’t any room for deliberation; he’d already decided before the thought entered his mind. Sure, people were concerned, but maybe they should have been. Their life had been in turmoil for such a long time, he wasn’t sure if they’d ever escape it. 

 

Maybe they wouldn’t, but that didn’t change the fact that Harry would never regret his decision to become Clara’s guardian. He loved her too much, and looking after her gave him a purpose, one that was greater than just existing to write songs and tour with them. 

 

With all the noteworthy things that he’d experienced, Harry still felt that Clara was the most remarkable of them all. She taught him things he wouldn’t ever be able to explain to her, and he was forever grateful for it. Him taking her in wasn’t charitable, it was necessary. For both of them.

 

~~

_ 2 days later _

 

Clara had hoped that for their journey home there would be some snowflakes swirling around in the air to create some semblance of contentment this holiday. It was the first one without her mother. She sat alone in the midst of her mingling relatives. They looked at her with pity, and figured it best not to bother her as she stared wistfully out the window. If anyone could feel absolutely lonely in a room full of people, it was Clara. 

 

The drive there had been quiet; she’d put her headphones in so Harry wouldn’t try to talk to her. And when he still did, she pretended to be asleep. “You know, you can’t fool me with that,” he’d said, squeezing her shoulder. Clara had leaned into his touch. “You’ll feel better when we get there.” She felt a bit better, but mostly the same. 

 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” came a voice. It was Evan. 

 

“Nothing.”

 

He let out a little laugh as he sat next to her leaning to speak into her ear. “Horseshit.” he took a sip of wine from his glass. “Stop thinkin’ so much, Clara. You’ll feel better.”

 

“Where’s Dad?”

 

“Not coming. He said he didn’t feel welcome or summat. Sorta makes sense, it’s mostly Harry’s family this year.” 

 

Clara knew that it was her mother that her aunts and uncles traveled to see every year. She supposed now there was no need. She still considered most of Harry’s family as her own, but it wasn’t the same; it wouldn’t ever be. “Where’s Harry gone?”

 

“Jesus, Clara. Will you leave the guy alone? Go talk to someone, eat some food. Try and have a good time. Stop following him around like you’re his shadow, okay? You’re better than that.”

“Fuck off, Evan. I’m not his shadow.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“Merry Christmas.” Clara said, getting up to leave. 

 

She saw the cat scurry toward the stairs and she followed her, scooping the thing up in her arms. “Hello. Miss me?” She went upstairs to the guest bedroom and shut the door behind her. She could hear Harry laughing and bantering downstairs. She didn’t want to make him worry or ruin his mood. She felt embarrassed. She wasn’t sure how many people actually knew what she tried to do, but it felt like all of them did. She hated it.

 

Clara looked down at Evie. “You won’t judge me, will you, Evie?” The cat leapt out of her lap and onto the ground. “Thanks for the support.”

 

~~

 

Harry knocked at the door to the guest bedroom. He’d brought her a plate of food since she’d missed Christmas Eve dinner. “Come in.” He opened the door slowly and stood next to the bed. 

 

“Missed you at dinner.” he said. His voice was quiet.

 

“You didn’t come get me.” She said it like she was surprised. 

 

Harry shrugged. “Figured you’d come if you wanted to. Now, eat. Please.” He held the plate out to her and watched as she dug into the green beans. “You’re not getting out of dinner tomorrow night.”

 

“Okay. Did you have a good time?”

 

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, moving to sit down in the chair next to the bed. “Erm, yeah, I did.”

 

“That’s good. Evan was being a shit again.”

 

“Well, that’s just how he is, I suppose.” 

 

“Do you think I’m your shadow?”

 

Harry frowned. “What? No, of course not, love. Did Evan say that?”

 

Clara was silent as she moved around the mashed potatoes on her plate. “Maybe...He was trying to help me though.”

 

“I suppose I’ll have to have a chat with him.”

 

“No, don’t. That’s just how he is. Like you said.” She paused. “So...I’ve been thinking a lot…and I think I figured out why I’m still sad.”

 

“Clara...there’s no one thing that’s going to make you better…”

 

“No, I know. But…I think it’s because part of me doesn’t want to? Like I’m so used to thinking a-and just like  _ being _ the way I am so like...if I change that...is it still me? It-it’s not familiar so like...I think sometimes I’d rather be sad. Does that make sense?”

 

Harry nodded. It made a lot of sense. He couldn’t say he really understood it though. If he was upset, he’d do anything to keep himself from feeling the pain. Clara embraced it, even sought it. He didn’t know why or at what point happiness became foreign to her, but he wouldn’t let her brood any longer. Especially not at Christmas.

 

“Right, finish that up, then meet me downstairs.”

“Why?”

 

“‘Cause I said so.”

 

Clara went downstairs in her pajamas. “Harry?” she called.

 

“In here!” Clara followed his voice to the living room. Him, Gemma, and Anne were all snuggled up on the couch in blankets. “C’mon then!” Harry said, beckoning for her to join. “We’re watching  _ The Polar Express _ .”

 

That was her favorite. “Hey, stranger!” Gemma said. She wrapped Clara in a hug. “Haven’t seen you all night! Been hidin’, huh?” Clara nodded, and Gemma gave her a rub on the back. “You doing alright?”

 

“M’okay.”

 

“Alright, alright, sit down!” Anne said. “I’m starting it.”

 

Clara settled between Harry and Gemma on the couch. “Right, so there’s cookies on the table if you’re peckish,” Harry said, leaning into her. “which I know you are because I know you didn’t finish all your dinner. 

 

She glared at him, but it didn’t last long. She smiled at him and said thank you with her eyes.

 

~~

 

“Alright, so this one’s from me, Clara.” Harry said. He rolled his cross between his thumb and forefinger as he handed her a meticulously wrapped box. She ripped it open. “I-it’s a microphone. You plug it into your laptop and you you can use it to record yourself. I thought it might help you with your songs.”

 

He somehow always got her the perfect gift. The problem with getting gifts for him was that anything she could get him, he could already get himself. So basically, if he wanted it, he would already have it. This limited Clara to either no gift at all, which feels horrible, or a thoughtful gift with lots of meaning. She always chose the latter.

 

This year, though, she couldn’t exactly get out to the store to get him something, what with all the other things going on. So, she got him a wood engraving. The entire process of engraving was sort of stressful, seeing as he couldn’t know about it. She had to conspire with Gemma about it. Overall, she was happy with it.

 

“Thank you,” she said to Harry. She picked up her gift and handed it to him. She watched him grin and rip it open. 

 

He took in the sight of the wood, letting his fingers run over the words. “Clara…” he began. 

“Read it,” she said.

 

_  
__When a grave place_

_ Makes you forget your brave face _

_ Try to start anew _

_ By remembering who taught you _

 

“Ohhh, Clarabara.” Harry said. He was crying. He reached out for her and pulled her hin close. “I love it. Truly. Thank you.”

 

“Don’t cry, Harry. You’re making me cry.” Clara said. 

 

“Deal with it,” Harry said, now laughing and crying at the same time. “Precious, precious girl.” he whispered. “The new year’s going to be better. I promise.”

 

“I promise too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this story is now nearing the end. I'm not sure how many more chapters there will be, but a time jump is happening very soon, if not next chapter, then the one after. Clara made a breakthrough in this chapter by realizing she was standing in her own way. That is the first step in recovering and forming healthier mental habits. This is a very nuanced and complicated process that we won't get more into than we already have, so very soon we'll see Clara in a healthier mental state. I want to have a chapter that skips one year and an epilogue with various scenes farther into the future (5-10 years or more). Thank you to everyone who's commented or has been keeping up with Harry and Clara. If you've been following but not commenting, maybe leave a comment to let me know what you think of the story, or maybe what you want to see in the future. I'm still open for prompts by the way, I just don't have much time presently to write them, but it's break so I will soon. (And to obsessedwithgayboybanders, which is a lovely username by the way, I've written the beginning of your prompt and it's very interesting ;) ) You can message me with prompts or questions with the links below, or you can comment, whichever you like. Happy Holidays!
> 
> Twitter [@WeShouldOpenUp](http://twitter.com/WeShouldOpenUp?lang=en)
> 
> Wattpad [@therosepose](http://www.wattpad.com/user/therosepose)  
> 


	27. Chapter 27

_One Year Later_

 

“What’re you working on?”

 

“Stuff.” Clara said, not even looking up. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, as it often was once they arrived at a hotel. Today, it was in Glasgow.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, I can see that.”

 

“It’s homework.” she clarified. “I’m supposed to get it done by tomorrow…”

“What have you got to do, though?”

 

“Write in iambic pentameter.”

 

“Ah, learning about Shakespeare then?”

 

Clara nodded. “I have to revise for the GCSE.”

 

“Right. God, you’re all grown up, aren’t you?” It didn’t seem that long ago when he was babysitting for her mother, and she was hanging onto his legs. She was a woman.

 

Clara tilted her head. “You’re getting sentimental.”

 

Harry grinned at her. “Ah, Clarabara, when have you known me not to be sentimental?”

 

She laughed. “Never.”

 

“That’s right. Never.” He sat down next to her on the bed. “You want to come to the show tonight?”

“I don’t know…” Clara began. She didn’t really like going to all the shows. They were loud, and there were so many people. It took a lot of energy, and she wasn’t even performing. She wasn’t extraverted like Harry. She needed time in the quiet, to think, to read, to write.

 

“Aw, come on. It’ll be fun. I’m playing a new song.”

 

She eyed him quizzically. “What new song?”

 

He shrugged. “One you haven’t heard before.”

 

“But I’ve heard all of them.”

 

“Ah, but you haven’t.” he said, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. She was going to love it. She had to come. “You’ll have the best seats in the house.” he joked.

 

She shoved him. “Shut up.”

“We leave in an hour for the venue.”

 

“Okay…”

 

Harry’s face lit up. “Okay?”

 

“Yes, I said okay.”

 

“Perfect. Wonderful.” He stood up and hugged her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll have a good time.”

 

“I’m sure I will.”

 

~~

 

Clara smiled when Harry waved at her from onstage. She had asked Harry if she could be in the pit this show, to which he responded,“Why would you wanna do that?”

 

“It’s more fun,” she’d argued. “I’ll wear a shirt with your face on it so I blend in.”

 

Harry hadn’t really been convinced. His fans would most definitely recognize her. There were a lot of things that could go wrong, actually. He needed to know exactly where she was at all times, and he couldn’t do that with her in the pit. So, he’d said no.

 

Clara stood just offstage and sang along to the familiar tune.

 

_We’re just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty_

_Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat_

 

She closed her eyes and swayed to the beat. The song ended soon after, but she didn’t register it until she heard the sound of Harry’s voice cutting through the air again.

 

“How’s everybody doing tonight? This next one is one we haven’t played for you before. I wrote it about a year ago, and it’s for someone very close to me. I hope you like it. It’s called _Tired Eyes._ ”

 

This was it? What he wanted her to hear? Had he written it for her? No, it probably just meant he wanted her to hear it.

 

_When you wake up in the morning, Tired Eyes_

_Though your lips are curved, I see through your disguise_

 

She started to cry. She was shaking and she didn’t have anyone to hold onto. She let the words sink into her skin. That was her.

 

_You’re calling out for her_

_But she’s gone_

_And you’re waking to an unforgiving dawn_

_Open up and see_

_The world’s less empty_

 

It sounded familiar. It reminded her of all the times he pleaded to her to let him know what she was thinking. She couldn’t help but create other worlds inside her mind, the waking world seemed so bleak.

 

_Go to sleep, Tired Eyes_

_Share your burdens, make them mine_

_There is nothing I would hide from you_

_There is nothing I would rather do_

 

The world was not bleak in this moment. She was overwhelmed with gratitude, happiness. Clara sobbed, hugging herself tightly so she wouldn’t fall over. She realized that Harry was crying too.

 

The crowd was swaying with their phone lights. It sounded like a lullaby, and it was the kindest thing anyone could ever say to her. Everyone was silent for a few moments as the song reached its conclusion, as if they were listening so intently, and hanging onto every word just as she was.

 

“Thank you.” Harry said into the microphone. And the cheers were thunderous.

 

Harry looked over at Clara and smiled. _I love you,_ he mouthed.

 

“I love you too.”

 

~~

 

Harry was nearing the end of the setlist. There were two songs left when Clara’s phone vibrated. She unlocked it absently, her eyes going wide with shock. It was Violet.

 

Violet had texted her.

 

After a whole year.

 

She stood in awe for a moment as she read the message.

 

**Violet**

_Are you at Harry’s concert right now?_

 

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She sensed where it might lead, and the very thought made her nauseous with anxiety. Tentatively, she wrote back.

 

**_Yes. Why?_ **

 

_Could you meet me? In the loo._

 

Clara had already typed the response and sent it before she could stop herself. Her hands shook almost violently, and she almost dropped her phone onto the floor. The entire room vibrated with intensity, her head throbbing along with the beat of the music.

 

**_Okay._ **

 

She felt herself slip away, towards backstage, towards somewhere else. Once she’d managed to escape the suffocation of the the stadium, she realized she didn’t even know how to get to the toilets. She walked, and walked until she reached the end of the corridor and some stairs. Which way did she come in? She began to cry all over again, this time out of helplessness. Maybe she’d wanted to get lost anyway. She could hear Harry’s familiar voice faintly through the walls as she reached the top of the stairs.

 

She looked up from the ground and was met with a friendly sign. **Toilets ↑**

Clara walked not even two steps before she froze at a sudden sound. It was a voice. She knew that voice.

 

“Clara?”

 

“Clara, are you alright?” she was closer now, and she reached out to touch Clara’s shoulder. “C?”

 

“Violet,” Clara breathed. She dared not move; she was afraid of how it would feel to touch her. Right or wrong, welcomed or alien? She stared into the girl’s wide eyes for what seemed like a long time, standing completely still and aware of each breath her and Violet took.

 

Without warning, Violet wrapped her arms around Clara, who left her own arms limp at her sides. Everything about the embrace felt different, and it made Clara uneasy. “Violet,” she whispered again. When she let go, she averted her eyes, staring instead at the cement floor.

 

“Talk to me, Clara.”

 

“Why are you here?” Clara blurted, not meaning for it to sound as hostile as it did.

 

Violet grimaced a little, then let a thin smile spread across her face. “I was hoping I’d see you.”

 

Clara shook her head in disbelief. “Why?”

 

“Because I needed to tell you I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re sorry.” Clara echoed, losing focus and becoming slack-jawed. _Sorry? SorrySorrySorry._

 

“I’m sorry for the last thing I said to you. And I’m sorry I never talked to you after I moved. That was messed up, okay? I was wrong. I just thought that if you hated me, it’d be easier to move on.”

 

“You’re sorry,” Clara repeated.

 

Violet blinked, and tears flooded her eyes. “Yes, Clara. I’m sorry. Please say something.”

 

“That day…When you told me you were leaving….I tried to...I almost…”

 

“No...No, you didn’t. You didn’t try to…. You wouldn’t try to do that.”

 

“I did.”

 

Violet began to sob. “Clara, I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t…”

 

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” Clara said.

 

“Don’t go!” Violet pleaded.

 

“I have to. Please, I have to.” Despite her words, she didn’t move.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Violet whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

 

Clara nodded and went back the direction she came, tremors wracking her body every few seconds. This concert was supposed to be fun. “Sorry,” she said again.

 

~~

Harry felt a hand intertwine with his and let out a little sigh of contentment. “Well done, tonight.” Eliot snaked his fingers through Harry’s long hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his nose, then his lips, as was the custom. Normally, these little interactions made Harry’s heart swell, but tonight he wasn’t present. It was obvious, he was sure, but it seemed that Eliot was keen on ignoring it for the sake of preserving whatever prospect they had of a quiet, romantic evening.

 

“I’m worried about her.”

 

Eliot tugged at the hem of Harry’s shirt, which Harry took as a signal to raise his arms above his head. “You’re always worried about her,” he said, pulling the fabric over Harry’s head. “She said she wanted to be alone.” Eliot ran his fingers over the swallows on his collarbones, then the butterfly on his stomach. Harry shuddered as the cold hands made contact with his skin, goose pimples raising on his arms. He leaned into the touch, which became an embrace.  

 

“What if…”

 

“Harry, you know what I’ve told you about the ‘what ifs.’”

 

Harry nestled his head into the shoulder of the other man and wrapped his arms around his waist. They stood there, swaying. He reached down to pull at Eliot’s shirt. He wanted to feel the warmth of his boyfriend’s skin on his chest. It wasn’t long before he got what he wanted. “I should check on her.” he said, though it was half-hearted.

 

“You have to build the trust back up. Besides, it’s our last night together for a while and I want as much of you as I can get.”

 

Harry laughed. He was right. Eliot’s life was in London, and Harry had to respect that even though he’d love to have him at every single show and be with him in every corner of the world. This was Harry’s job, but Eliot’s was in London, making music.

 

Harry felt lips press against his and he was at home.

 

_I love you._

 

“I’ll be five minutes.” Harry whispered, scared of losing his resolve, scared he’d sink so deep, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything except for _skin, mouth…_ Harry broke from the embrace.

 

“Harry…”

 

“Five minutes.” he repeated. “You know I have to.”

 

“Okay.” Eliot conceded. Harry was relieved, because there was no changing his mind.

~~

 

That was it. Clara didn’t know what to do, how to feel. She’d assured Harry that she’d be okay, although she wasn’t sure of anything. A year ago, seeing Violet would’ve meant everything to her. Just to see her, told hold her would have made her feel whole.

 

But she didn’t feel like she was missing anything anymore. Maybe she’d been too harsh, too distant, too cold. Seeing Violet brought her back to the very time in her life that she’d worked so hard to get past: the day she tried to leave.

 

An awful thing that she thought she’d done a good job of putting behind her. She was wrong, as usual. Everything had just come bubbling back up to the surface so fast she thought she could explode.

 

There was a knock at the door. She scrambled to wipe her wet eyes dry. “Clara, can I come in?”

Harry. Harry always knew what to do, what to say. “Y-yeah.”

 

She’d barely even blinked before his arms were around her. Kind, warm, safe, like always. She let herself cry. “Thank you. The song was really beautiful.”

 

“I’m glad you liked it. Are you okay?”

 

“I will be. I think. Go back to your room.” She knew Eliot was leaving for London in the morning.

 

Harry cupped Clara’s face in the palms of his hands, thumbs rubbing lazy stripes, and she felt small again, like she had long before when he’d sing for her, smiling green eyes peering at her through unruly curls. “You know it’s okay not to be okay, right?”

 

She nodded. “I know. Go.”

 

Reluctantly, Harry let go of her.

 

He hesitated at the open door, taking a long look at her.

 

 

 

 

> _So brave_ , he thought, and he smiled to himself.
> 
>  
> 
> _Clarabara._
> 
>  
> 
> The door closed behind him with a click.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. We've reached the home stretch. The next chapter will be the epilogue and then that's it. :,) I'm a little emotional to be honest. I've been working on this fic since August and now it's a brand new year. See you in the next one.


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short, but this was the only thing left i needed to say

_Epilogue_

 

_Ten Years Later_

 

“Harry?” Clara asked, as she always did, so as to delay the divulgence of whatever dilemma she was facing. Her eyes fell to the little girl snoring in Harry’s lap. He leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, like he used to do for Clara.

 

“Yes, love?” he whispered.

 

“I’ve sort of got some...er...news.”

 

“Oh? So you haven’t just come to see your niece then?” he tutted, and a nervous laugh escaped her. “What’s on your mind?”

 

“Er...Maria...has asked me to marry her.”

 

Harry grinned. “Has she now?”

 

She folded her arms to her chest and scoffed. “Did you already know?”

 

“I...didn’t not know.” he said, preparing himself for whatever she’d say next.

 

“I can’t believe you!”

 

“It’s not my fault!” he protested, raising his hands in surrender. His daughter groaned in his lap and snuggled further into the warm of his chest. “It’s not my fault,” he repeated, softer. “She came to me for...guidance.”

 

“Guidance?”

 

“Yes. And I told her that if she wanted to ask you...it was worth a shot.” he smirked a little.

 

“Jesus, Harry.” she shook her head.

 

“What? Aren’t you happy?”

 

“I haven’t answered her yet.”

 

“What?”

 

“I just didn’t know what to say and I wanted to say yes but then I just got so in my head and I wondered if things would change and—”

 

Harry reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Love, calm down. When did she ask you?”

 

“Saturday.” It was Thursday.

 

“And you’ve been avoiding her that long? You live together.”

 

“I took a trip to see Anne. I didn’t say anything to her. But I can’t deal with it anymore. How did you feel when Eliot proposed?”

“I was elated. And you should be too.”

 

“But—”

 

“When she asked you, what was your heart telling you? Hm?”

 

Clara breathed out a sigh. “Yes.”

 

“Then stop worrying your head about it and go apologize.”

 

“Okay,” Clara nodded to herself. “Okay, you’re right.”

 

“Of course I’m right.”

 

She looked over at him, eyes wide. “I’m scared.”

 

He shrugged. “It is scary. But you know what? It’s so much more exciting.”

 

“I suppose you’re going to tell me to put on my brave face, then, hm?”

 

Harry smiled. “Now you’re getting it, Clarabara.”

 

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you for reading. It means so much to me. Until the next one. Kissy <3


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